


Than the Sum of its Parts

by flaming_muse



Series: Sum-verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole of Kurt and Blaine’s relationship is greater than the sum of its parts. Scenes of two boys in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Than The Sum of its Parts -- Die Summe ihrer Teile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156748) by [Klaineship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaineship/pseuds/Klaineship)



> the story starts during 2x16 (“Original Song”) and ends in the summer after 2x22 (“New York”)
> 
> Endless (seriously, endless) thanks to stoney321, without whose boundless patience and enthusiasm (and laughter with and at me) this fic would have been three scenes long and far less fun to write. I could not have done it without her. Also thanks to bethynyc for her eye for detail and willingness to tackle Blaine's abuse (yes, his not mine) of conjunctions, adverbs, and run-on sentences. They did their best with me; all remaining errors and awkward turns of phrase are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Without much in canon to guide us, I have modeled this Dalton after the private high school (a mix of boarding and day) I attended some years ago. It was co-ed, and we didn't have uniforms beyond the ubiquitous white dresses for girls and navy blazers for boys at certain ceremonies like commencement, but the members of the boys' a capella group were in fact like rock stars, and there was a serious no bullying policy in place, including anti-gay bullying, which was a big deal for the time.

Blaine is almost late for Warblers practice the day after he starts dating Kurt.

He all but runs down the hall, having been pulled aside by his History teacher after class because he’d been daydreaming about Kurt the entire period, and he comes rushing in at the last minute, leaping down the stairs as Wes calls the session to order.

He scans the room for a frantic moment before he finds Kurt’s familiar face - and he should have realized he had feelings ages ago, because the flip of his stomach when he sees Kurt’s smile is anything but new - and he finds himself letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and smiling, himself, as he saunters over and slides onto the couch next to Kurt. Next to his _boyfriend_. He leans a little into Kurt, just because he can, and feels the answering press of Kurt’s shoulder against his.

Blaine listens to Wes for a minute before zoning out on memories of yesterday’s amazing kisses and then realizes that he doesn’t actually have to sit here and daydream. Not that he’s going to kiss Kurt in the middle of practice, at least not _today_ , but he can do more than think about him. His heart catches in his throat for a second at just how incredible that idea is.

Not taking his eyes off of Wes, Blaine places his hand palm up on his right leg, which is pressed against Kurt’s. He jogs Kurt’s elbow with his own, then wiggles his fingers to indicate his intentions.

Kurt doesn’t move, and as Blaine’s confidence turns into fear that he had done something wrong or that Kurt had changed his mind about Blaine in the two hours it had been since they’d seen each other at lunch he glances over at Kurt, who is staring at his hand. His eyes are wide and round, and Blaine watches as the absolute shock in them turns to wonder. Kurt’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting to maintain his calm expression, and without meeting Blaine’s eyes he squares his shoulders and regally places his hand in Blaine’s.

Blaine doesn’t even try not to grin, and he laces their fingers together and puts his free hand on top. Wes drones on and on about their travel arrangements for Regionals and the changes to their rehearsal schedule. Blaine half-listens but mostly tortures himself by stroking the back of Kurt’s hand and letting his fingers drift just under the edge of his shirt cuff. It is tame, he knows, but he’s still kind of dizzy with it. Kurt’s skin is soft, and it’s his to touch. It is the best thing ever.

Then Blaine brushes his thumb over the inside of Kurt’s wrist where his pulse is fluttering, and Kurt snatches his hand back in the blink of an eye. Blaine looks over at him in dismay, his heart sinking. He immediately thinks of Kurt telling him that he likes romance where the touch of fingers is the ultimate goal, and even though Kurt had been a very willing participant in the previous day’s kisses, maybe Blaine has pushed too far too fast, though if touching his wrist is too fast then Blaine is going to _die_ from desire. He can be good, he can be respectful, but he’s going to _die_ from it.

But then he really looks at Kurt and realizes that Kurt doesn’t actually seem scared or upset. His eyes are dark and glassy, his ears are bright red, he’s breathing fast, and he’s got his other hand clamped tight around the wrist Blaine had just been caressing, his thumb pressed against his pulse point.

 _Oh_ , thinks Blaine. _He_ likes _it._ I _did that._

Somehow he manages not to grab Kurt’s hand back or bounce out of his seat with the sheer giddiness of the realization.

*

The next day Kurt and Blaine go for a walk around campus. It’s a grey, cold day, and the only other people outside are rushing from one building to the next with their heads tucked down in the collars of their coats.

Blaine doesn’t mind. He likes the weather. Well, he likes pretty much every kind of weather, really, and Kurt is never upset about having an excuse to wear a scarf, so they stroll hand-in-hand past the soccer fields and into the arboretum. They talk about nothing in particular: their days, David’s crazy freak-out at lunch over the deli bar running out of provolone, their upcoming school projects. It’s exactly the kind of thing they would have done earlier in the week, except that Kurt’s hand is tight in Blaine’s, and the corner of his mouth keeps lifting in a smile that makes Blaine’s heart race each time it appears. Blaine knows he’s far less successful at keeping his own grin off his face.

Finally they settle side-by-side on a low stone retaining wall, and Blaine finds himself telling Kurt this hysterical story about the time last year when Jeff replaced Wes’ gavel with a rubber one. It’s one of his favorites. He stops mid-gesture, though, when he realizes about halfway through that Kurt’s smile has nothing to do with Wes’ antics.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks.

Kurt blinks and flushes, shaking his head. “I’m listening. Please.” He indicates with a sweep of his fingers that Blaine should continue.

“No, what were you thinking about?”

“You,” Kurt admits.

Blaine buzzes with delight and asks, “What about me?”

Kurt glances over Blaine’s shoulder, a flash of nerves crossing his face, before he meets Blaine’s eyes again. “I was thinking I wanted to kiss you.”

“You can,” Blaine tells him softly because he can’t quite catch his breath to make the words come out any louder.

The smile returns, even brighter now, and Kurt says, “I know.” He cups Blaine’s cheek with cool fingers and leans in and brings their mouths together. The kiss is soft, sweet, and yet still makes Blaine feel like he’s on some sort of spinning rollercoaster ride. He takes a shaky breath and anchors himself with a hand in the fabric of the sleeve of Kurt’s wool coat.

Kurt pulls back far too soon, leaving his hand on Blaine’s face. His thumb strokes gently over Blaine’s cheekbone. He looks so happy, and Blaine knows just how he feels.

It isn’t often that Blaine is at a loss for words, but he doesn’t know how to tell Kurt how incredible it is to have him. It isn’t just that Blaine is amazed by having an actual boyfriend, though that’s pretty awesome by itself, but that it’s _Kurt_. It’s Kurt, who is strong and cutting and funny and smart and creative and beneath it all a really good friend. It’s Kurt, who Blaine knows will fight for him the way he fights for everything else. It’s Kurt, who can cry over a bird and stand up to bullies and tell Blaine when he’s being an idiot and still remember his coffee order at the end of the day.

Blaine would never have thought he was in love with Jeremiah if he’d fallen for anyone before like he has for Kurt. One is a crush; the other is a _connection_. And Kurt had gotten that long ago and had still been his friend through all of Blaine’s stupidity.

But Blaine doesn’t know how to say any of that, since he can hardly make sense of it in his own head, so all he can do is cover Kurt’s hand with his own and press a gentle kiss into Kurt’s palm.

Kurt’s eyes sparkle at the gesture, and Blaine does it again to see if he can tease that smile to grow a little wider. He drags his mouth down to the base of Kurt’s thumb, which earns him a soft gasp, and he remembers yesterday’s reaction and carefully inches back the cuff of Kurt’s sleeve.

The smile on Kurt’s face is suddenly gone, replaced by an intense focus on the path of Blaine’s fingers. He can hear Kurt’s breathing speed up, and when he touches his mouth to the inside of Kurt’s wrist, his eyes locked on his face, Blaine can see the flush rise on Kurt’s cheeks and his pupils grow wide with desire. Kurt makes the single most addictive sound Blaine has ever heard, a low moan that Kurt chokes off almost immediately. Kurt’s eyes shut for a moment, and they open lazily as Blaine moves his mouth away, his hands still cradling Kurt’s.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, like he can’t believe any of it is actually real, and then he’s pulling Blaine in for a heated, take no prisoners kiss. About two seconds in, Blaine loses the ability to think, and he meets Kurt kiss for kiss, one hand on Kurt’s cheek and the other twined with Kurt’s between them.

It is the most incredible thing Blaine has ever experienced, not just Kurt’s mouth but everything about it: the puff of Kurt’s breath against his cheek, the flex of Kurt’s fingers in his when Blaine touches his tongue to Kurt’s soft palate, the soft, needy sounds they both make as they kiss and kiss and kiss. It’s like nothing he could have imagined. It’s _better_ than he could have ever imagined. And they’re only _kissing_.

A while later, when they are both flushed and dazed, a gust of icy wind forces them to pull apart.

“We should probably go someplace warmer,” Kurt says, and his voice has a hoarseness to it that _Blaine_ put there, and, god, now he wants to put it there every second of the day.

“I like how you’ve been keeping me warm,” Blaine tells him, and Kurt rolls his eyes and rises to his feet. He holds out a hand to Blaine, who takes it and stands, too. Now that he’s not totally wrapped up in Kurt he realizes that it is getting kind of bitter outside and the color of Kurt’s ears seems to be more due to the wind than Blaine’s attentions. Blaine feels warm to his bones, though. “It’s better than thinsulate, no matter what Thad says about camping gear.” He manages not to hit himself in the forehead, but he can’t believe he’s talking about camping instead of the million other more important things he’d rather be saying to Kurt.

“I think all of this cold has done something dire to your brain,” Kurt says fondly as they fall into step back toward the main part of campus.

“No, that’s just you,” Blaine replies, and it’s totally true.

*

Blaine does not spend his entire lunch period on Tuesday watching the clock in the dining hall. He only spends _most_ of it with it squarely in the _corner_ of his eye, because he’s eating with Wes and David, and they deserve his attention, too.

The thing is, though, that it’s a Tuesday, and he doesn’t see Kurt much on Tuesdays. Their free periods don’t overlap, their classes are such that they don’t pass each other in the halls, and they don’t even have lunch at the same time. Kurt has History late, and Blaine has Psych early over the rolling lunch period. Blaine hasn’t been fond of Tuesdays pretty much since Kurt enrolled at Dalton, but now it’s even worse.

Blaine watches the clock tick to the end of Kurt’s class period, which means that it’s time for _him_ to go to class. He fiddles with his water glass and wonders how late he can push it and how fast he can run across campus.

“We have to go,” Wes says. “Blaine. _Blaine_.” When Blaine looks up, Wes repeats a little more kindly, “We have to go to Psych. Zimmer will kill us if we’re late.”

“Yeah.” Blaine stands up with a sigh, and if he takes _slightly_ longer than necessary to drop his tray off he can’t really help it.

As he and Wes reach the main doors to the quad, Kurt walks through them. He looks flushed and is breathing a little hard, like he’d been rushing to get to lunch, and he stops in his tracks and breaks into a wide smile when he sees Blaine. He tempers it almost immediately, but it still makes Blaine’s heart pound.

“Hi, Kurt,” Blaine says.

“Hi, Blaine.” Kurt bounces on his toes a little, his hands on the strap of his bag. He looks great, his hair tousled by the wind and his eyes sparkling.

They stand there for a moment, just smiling at each other, until Wes rolls his eyes and says, “We have to get to class. See you at rehearsal, Kurt.”

“Of course. See you at rehearsal,” Kurt replies, but Blaine knows the words are really for him alone.

Blaine touches Kurt’s arm as he walks by, Kurt watches them until the doors close between them, and Blaine smiles the whole way to Psych.

*

Blaine would know Kurt’s voice anywhere. That’s not new, really, because his speaking voice captured Blaine’s attention from their very first conversation, and he’s the only countertenor at Dalton, so he stands out when he sings at the high end of his range. Still, now that they’re dating, it’s like Blaine has Kurt-radar. He always seems to notice Kurt immediately among dozens of identically dressed students walking on the far side of the quad. He finds himself focused on Kurt’s harmonies while they’re singing warm-ups. He can pick out Kurt’s laugh across the crowded dining hall even at the busiest lunch hour.

So it’s no surprise, then, that when he hears muted singing in the back stairwell on his way to fourth period he immediately knows that it’s Kurt, despite the fact that he ought to be on the other side of campus right now. Blaine waves Trent on and opens the door to the stairs.

Blaine steps onto the landing and looks over the railing to see the top of a head he’d know anywhere. It’s Kurt, and he’s _singing_. His voice is soft, but the notes soar. It’s beautiful. Blaine clutches the banister and makes himself stand still so that he doesn’t interrupt.

“He tucks it right under his chin, and he bows, oh, he bows, for he knows, yes, he knows - ” Kurt cuts off and jerks to a halt when he rounds the corner and sees Blaine standing on the landing. He loses the tension in his shoulders and resumes his rapid pace up the stairs when he realizes who it is. “Hello there.”

“Hi. Sorry I startled you,” Blaine says when Kurt reaches him. "I heard you singing."

Kurt’s smile fades, and he touches his hair, flustered. "I thought I was being quiet."

“You were. I have Kurt-radar.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Blaine says with a shake of his head. “What are you doing over here? I thought you had French.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, like Blaine hasn’t had his schedule memorized for months. “We’re in a different room today. There was a note on the door when I got there, so I had to come all the way back. I think it's the administration's way of making sure we get enough cardio."

Blaine grins, amused by his words and delighted by the fact that Kurt is just _there_ right in front of him. And he was singing. “I should thank them.”

“For what?”

Blaine leans in a little closer and says, “Letting me see you before English.”

“Yes, I’m sure they inconvenienced my entire class just so you could say hello,” Kurt says dryly.

“If they didn’t, they should.” It’s nearly time for class, so Blaine opens the door to the hallway and gestures for Kurt to go through before him. After a second’s hesitation, Kurt does. “What room are you in?”

“412. If this isn’t some elaborate scavenger hunt with a pop quiz for the prize at the end.”

They walk down the hall shoulder to shoulder, and when they reach Kurt’s class Blaine can’t help but say, “I haven’t heard you singing in the halls before.”

Kurt flushes, and his hand fidgets on his bag strap as he meets Blaine’s eyes. “I haven’t wanted to,” he admits.

“And now you do?”

With a quick glance around them at the emptying hallway, Kurt touches Blaine’s cheek with the tips of his fingers and says with a soft smile that hits Blaine like a punch to his chest, “Apparently now I do.”

And with that he slips away into his classroom, leaving Blaine standing there grinning like a fool. He feels giddy, a little lost, and like he must be doing something very right.

*

One of the best things about having a boyfriend is that you don’t have to daydream about what it would be like to make out with someone on his bed on a quiet Sunday afternoon when his parents are unexpectedly out for an hour; you actually get to _do_ it.

The problem with his boyfriend being Kurt - and, really, it’s about the only problem Blaine has with Kurt at all even a few weeks into their relationship - is that Kurt wears complicated clothing. There are tight jeans and boots and sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and vests and ties and scarves and hats and sometimes leather straps that are kind of terrifying and hot all at once, and between the many different and hidden ways they are fastened and the terror in Kurt’s eyes if anything is in danger of being torn, wrinkled, or otherwise mishandled it is really, really hard for Blaine to get anywhere near Kurt’s skin.

And given how unbelievably hot Kurt looks in his clothing, Blaine, being a guy, pretty much always wants to take it off of him. At least some of it. Neither of them is ready for _no_ clothing yet or even close, but Blaine doesn’t feel like it’s too much to ask to undo a few buttons. But between the way Kurt still jumps when Blaine touches him unexpectedly and the way he dresses it’s not as simple as it sounds in Blaine’s head.

He, of course, is much easier. One tug of his tie and he’s putty in Kurt’s hands. He’ll go wherever Kurt wants him, let Kurt slip the knot free and open his shirt a button or two so that Kurt can mouth that place low on Blaine’s throat that drives them both mad. Why would he ever stop him?

So while Kurt is still fully clothed from his impeccable bow tie to his heavy leather boots, which are hanging off the edge to save his bedding, Blaine's scarf is draped over a chair downstairs, his shoes are just inside Kurt's bedroom door, his sweater is on Kurt's bedside table, and his shirt is open enough that Kurt’s mouth has been able to leave a swath of tingling skin in its wake.

Blaine, however, is being thwarted at every direction as he desperately tries to reciprocate now that he finally, finally has Kurt pliant and eager beneath him and can touch the way he wants in return. Kurt's hands are fisted in Blaine's shirt to the point of almost pulling it free of his jeans, his body is arching up to meet Blaine’s, and yet Blaine is stuck mouthing at a spot just below Kurt's ear. He loves that spot, he is more than happy to worship that spot, but he's sure there are plenty of other spots he would also like if only he could get to them.

“I hate your clothes,” he mutters as he tries to coax Kurt’s stiff collar down another scant half inch.

In a flash, Kurt is out from under him and off of the bed.

“Hey!” Blaine rolls onto his side and flings out a hand toward him in protest.

Kurt recoils and stares at him in horror. “ _What_?”

“What?”

“You _hate_ my _clothes_?” His eyes are wet, like he might actually cry.

“Yes. _No_. No!” Blaine sits up and tries to get some blood back in his brain. “No, I do not hate your clothes. I love how you dress.” He gestures at Kurt’s outfit, which is, as always, spectacular. He scrambles to reassure him. “Your style is impeccable and perfectly you.”

“Then why would you say something so awful?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it like that. Really, Kurt.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and asks, “How _did_ you mean it?”

Blaine stands up and is encouraged that Kurt doesn’t keep backing away. “I love your clothes,” he says more softly, trailing a finger down the side of Kurt’s throat. It gets him a shiver, which makes it a little hard to focus, but he tries. “What I don’t like is being chaperoned by your bow tie.” He taps the item in question. It’s a light tap, but Kurt reaches up to straighten it anyway.

Blaine captures his hand and says earnestly, “I’m not trying to rush you or pressure you or go faster than either of us wants. But it might be nice, at least from my point of view, if I could catch even a glimpse of your collarbone.”

Kurt’s free hand flutters up to his chest, like he’d forgotten about the body part in question. “I just wanted to look good.”

“You do,” Blaine tells him. “You always do.” He watches Kurt’s face as he goes to unfasten the cuff link at Kurt’s wrist; when Kurt doesn’t flinch, Blaine slips it free and places it carefully on the bedside table. “But I’m not ashamed of saying I like seeing you. I like touching you.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” Kurt says breathily.

Blaine slides two fingers in the gap of Kurt’s cuff, stroking along the soft skin over strong muscles and tendons as close to Kurt’s inner elbow as he can reach. It makes his head spin.

“Is this okay?“

Kurt gives him a shaky nod.

“How about this?” Blaine slides Kurt’s sleeve up a little and waits with his mouth hovering just above the bend of Kurt’s arm.

Kurt’s eyes widen for a second, but he pulls himself together and says with a haughty lift of his eyebrow, “Let’s try it and see.”

Blaine is laughing when he finally gets to mouth along Kurt’s arm, and then he’s being pushed back onto the bed and neither of them is laughing anymore.

*

The next day at the Lima Bean, Kurt arrives ten minutes late no longer wearing his uniform but instead a fitted short-sleeved dress shirt in this amazing graphic print, his forearms bare and the shirt open at the collar.

“You are _incredible_ ,” Blaine tells him, taking his hand immediately when Kurt sits. He fights the urge to loosen his tie, because it’s getting really hard to get enough air.

Kurt searches Blaine’s face for a tense moment, like he is weighing the truth in Blaine’s words, before relaxing in his chair. “I’m a fast learner,” he says with a smirk.

Blaine realizes that he is in _so_ much trouble. He is actually kind of terrified. He can’t wait.


	2. Chapter 2

The problem with being teenagers, besides relentless hormones and the potential for acne, is that they just don’t have a good, reliable, private space to spend time together. Blaine’s dorm room has a roommate, Kurt’s house has his family, Dalton has teachers, librarians, and proctors, and pretty much everywhere else is, well, public. So while Kurt and Blaine spend as much time as they can steal in private, they are also forced out into the rest of the world quite a bit.

Mostly Blaine doesn’t mind. He likes going for coffee or to the mall, the latter primarily because of how Kurt’s eyes light up at finding the perfect new accessory, and he loves sitting across from Kurt in a restaurant and being on a _date_ with his _boyfriend_. It’s still magical, even when the dim candle is electric and the breadsticks are stale.

Still, there are nights like this one when he feels like there is nothing more important in the world - not world peace, not the cure for cancer, not a new album by Katy Perry - than him being able to have time alone with Kurt with a locked door between them and everyone else.

Part of the problem is that they were supposed to have had a semi-private evening together with Burt and Carole out with friends and Finn playing video games in his room with Puck, but Carole threw out her back at work yesterday and is at home on the couch with painkillers and a doting husband. So instead of lying on that very couch with Kurt making out through some musical of Kurt’s choosing when Finn and Puck weren’t wandering through, as they’d unofficially planned, Blaine is out for a walk with him in the twilight. Normally he’d be happy enough about a walk, but it had been a hard week and he was really looking forward to the time alone.

He tries to shake it off and bask in Kurt’s presence. It mostly works, but he’s jumpy in his skin. He really wants to _do_ something to burn off this extra energy. Since making out with Kurt isn’t an option, when he sees a deserted playground he tugs on Kurt’s hand and drags him inside through the squeaking gate. Perfect.

Kurt slows. “This is a playground.”

“What tipped you off?” Blaine asks as he walks backwards and continues to pull him along. “The slides? The swings? The bouncing dinosaur things?”

“I should have known you were actually five,” Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest as Blaine leaves him behind to jump on the monkey bars. Blaine has to bend his legs not to drag on the ground as he travels hand over hand along them, but the burn in his arms and stretch in his chest feels good after being so tight with frustration from endless schoolwork and Warblers practices with no competition in sight.

“I’m six,” Blaine tells him, swinging off of the end. “And a half.”

“Of course you are.” With a roll of his eyes visible even in the dwindling light, Kurt hesitates for a moment and then lowers himself stiffly onto one of the swings.

“Aw, come on, Kurt. Playgrounds are fun.”

“If you are six.” Kurt, however, does push off a little with his feet and swings gently as he watches Blaine. Blaine smiles just seeing it.

“And a half.”

“And a half,” Kurt agrees. His voice is off, like he’s trying to be annoyed but is actually secretly amused. The secret is out when Blaine leaps up onto the zig-zagging balance beam and easily speeds across it; Kurt laughs. “Do you have to jump on _everything_? Is it a compulsion? Do you need therapy for it? You can tell me; I won't judge.”

Blaine spins on one foot at the end of the beam like he’s done a million times while performing and jumps off backwards. “My only compulsion is you,” he tells Kurt and then gets a better look at the huge wooden play structure on the other side of the playground. “Oh my god, it’s a ship.”

“What are you talking about?” he hears Kurt say, but Blaine doesn’t wait.

He jogs over and contemplates the best way in. There are stairs and a ramp on one side and a ladder on the other, but the rope netting looks the most fun. By the time Kurt strolls over, his hands in the pockets of his coat, Blaine has scrambled up the netting, bounced across the jiggling bridge, squirmed through a series of tunnels, and ended up at the bow of the ship. He spins the wooden wheel and then stands at the point of the prow, spreads his arms, and proclaims, “I’m the king of the world!”

Kurt squints up at him in the semi-darkness. “Really? _Titanic_? The movie is almost as old as we are.”

“It’s a classic.”

“No, _An Affair to Remember_ is a classic; _Titanic_ is just a bloated excuse for special effects set around a stupid love story.”

Blaine can’t really disagree with that, so he just grins and says, “How many times have you seen it?”

Kurt scowls at him. Blaine waits. “Five,” Kurt finally admits.

“You should come up here,” Blaine says, laughing.

“Why?”

“Because _I’m_ up here.” Blaine leans over the edge and smiles his most winning smile down at Kurt.

After a moment Kurt sighs, and Blaine knows he’s won. Kurt considers the complicated and dirty structure, looks down at his clothes, and then stretches up to grab the railing next to Blaine. He fits the toe of his boot in a gap in the wall, braces his long arms, and pulls himself up, swinging over the edge in a graceful, apparently effortless movement. He lands lightly on his feet beside Blaine and dusts off his hands.

“Hi,” Blaine says, his mouth suddenly dry. He forgets, sometimes, that Kurt was a cheerleader and is so flexible and strong. It’s probably good that he does or he’d never get any of his school work done.

Kurt brushes off his jacket. “Hi.”

“That was pretty cool.” _Hot_. It was pretty _hot_ , but Blaine is trying to be good.

“Well, there was no way I was climbing through those tunnels in this outfit.” Kurt looks at them with a moue of distaste. “Or any outfit.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and leads him up to the prow. “Come on. Do you want to be Kate or Leo?”

“Neither, thank you.”

“That’s no fun.” Blaine leans out with his arms spread again.

“And _you_ are ridiculous.”

“I’m pretty sure you meant to say adorable.”

“ _Blaine_.” Kurt slips his arms around Blaine’s waist and turns him around. The second they are facing each other Kurt kisses him slowly and thoroughly, and Blaine melts into it. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want to help it.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all afternoon,” Kurt whispers against Blaine’s mouth.

“Me, too,” Blaine admits and kisses him harder.

Blaine expects Kurt to pull away after a few seconds, but he doesn’t. He just keeps kissing and kissing, all hot breath and lips and _tongue_ , and heat begins to spread through Blaine’s body, unfurling slowly and pushing out all other thoughts.

He pulls Kurt in closer, leaning back and resting their weight against the notch of the prow. The position makes Kurt seem even taller, and Blaine slides his hands up Kurt’s back to curl over his shoulders, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. Kurt doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He just tightens his own arm around Blaine’s waist, tips Blaine’s head back with a hand at his jaw, and kisses him more deeply.

It would be so, so easy to forget where they were. Blaine has gotten so used to kissing Kurt over the past weeks that he feels like he goes through withdrawal when they can’t touch. He’s going to have a long night in the dorm after he goes home and an even longer Sunday tomorrow without Kurt, and all he wants to do is soak in every bit of Kurt he can. Still, he knows he has to be good. They're outside, they have to go back to Kurt's busy house soon, and they are taking things slowly, anyway.

But when Kurt presses him back harder against the wooden rail and their hips come into contact, Blaine can't stop himself from moaning and grinding up against him. He's hard, and - fuck - he can feel Kurt is hard, too, and they usually are so careful to keep space between them, and it is _ridiculously_ hot to feel Kurt right there, wanting him, and all he wants is to keep rubbing against him, and -

Blaine manages to break away from the kiss, though Kurt just starts sucking on his throat, which doesn't really help at _all_ , and he finds some hidden reservoir of strength to jerk his hips back and say, "Sorry, sorry."

Kurt lifts his head, and Blaine can see that his pupils are blown wide. "What on earth are you sorry about?" he asks hoarsely.

"The... hip thing?"

Kurt blinks at him for a moment, reason returning to his face, and then he starts to grin.

"What?"

"And to think we assumed I'd be the awkward one when it came to be talking about this topic." He leans in and kisses Blaine softly just beneath his jaw on the side of his throat.

"Hey - "

"'Hip thing'?" Kurt continues. "Really?"

"I'm just trying to be a gentleman," Blaine says, stung.

"You are always a gentleman," Kurt says more softly, and he kisses Blaine on the mouth, swiftly and sweetly. "But you really don't have anything to be sorry for." He falters, then, and takes a half step back. "Unless it was too fast for you, and I should be apologizing. For the, uh, hip thing."

"No. No." Blaine tugs him back into a hug. "I..." Kurt is still looking nervous, and Blaine tells himself he can be honest. He _should_ be. "I liked it."

Kurt smiles, and it goes straight to Blaine's chest, making him ache. He wants Kurt to smile at him all the time. "I did, too. Even if now I _really_ don't want you to have to go home."

"Let me stay here a little longer," Blaine says, unable to conceive of having to let him go.

"Okay," Kurt says, simple as that, and kisses him again. When things get heated again soon after, Blaine does not even think of pulling away.

When they get back to the house, Blaine’s pants are way too tight, and he can barely look Mr. Hummel in the eye before he grabs his keys and heads for his car, but Kurt is still smiling, so Blaine can't find it in himself to care all that much. He kisses Kurt by the car, long and slow, and holds Kurt by the wrist, just for a minute, to feel the answering pounding of his boyfriend’s pulse before he leaves.

*

It isn’t that Blaine doesn’t know how to tie a tie, because obviously he does, but right now he just can’t make it work. This morning he tied it perfectly with a piece of toast in his mouth and half his attention on Facebook, but he clearly has lost the knack in the past two hours. It looks awful. Maybe it’s that his hands are damp from washing them. Maybe it’s that Jeff (in retaliation for Blaine’s organized straw wrapper bombardment at lunch earlier in the week) yanked his tie off in the parking lot of the retirement community the Warblers are performing at in five minutes - if their lead soloist can get into his uniform - and crumpled the material as he ran away laughing and flying it overhead like a banner. Either way Blaine cannot get the knot to sit right. It tightens at an odd angle. It rumples and twists. It mocks him in the mirror.

The door to the men’s room opens, but Blaine doesn’t look over, because getting himself ready for the performance is even more important than being polite. He just tugs at the knot in frustrated little movements that he hopes will create a miracle.

“What on earth are you doing?” Kurt asks. He sounds horrified, and his eyes are wide when Blaine meets them.

"A half-windsor?"

“Stop that right now,” Kurt says sharply and moves Blaine’s hands away. He frowns down at Blaine’s throat. “Blaine. What did this tie ever do to you?”

Blaine gestures to it. "It won't knot right."

With gentle hands, Kurt slips the tie loose from Blaine's collar, the friction of the motion warming Blaine’s neck, or maybe that’s just from Kurt being near. Kurt inspects the material. "No wonder it won't take a clean knot; you've abused it. Seriously, how long have you been wearing a Dalton uniform? This isn't pure silk, you know. You can't expect it to act like a more quality fabric."

“I don’t really care what it is,” Blaine says with a little frustration, because the last thing he needs is a lecture right now. “I just need it to tie properly.”

Kurt runs the tie through his hands, stroking and smoothing out the wrinkles. “Your clothes won’t work for you if you don’t treat them with respect,” he says absently, like his mind is more on Blaine’s abused tie than on Blaine himself. It’s a little ego-bruising, really.

“The good thing about blends, though,” Kurt continues, “is that they generally require fewer apologies to get them back into shape. There.” He drapes the now flat tie over his arm and reaches up to flip up Blaine’s collar. The back of his hand is soft and warm where it brushes against Blaine’s cheek as he works. Then he takes the tie and puts it around Blaine’s neck, deftly weaving it into a knot.

He’s close, close enough to smell his aftershave, close enough to feel his breath, close enough to kiss if Blaine gave into the urge.

“Isn’t that hard to do backwards?” Blaine blurts out, because otherwise he’s just standing here staring at Kurt’s face and lowered eyes and long eyelashes and cheekbones and is going to start reacting to his proximity the way he always does, which is wildly inconvenient three minutes before a show.

“I’ve been doing it for my dad for years,” Kurt replies, his attention still fixed on the tie in his hands. He pulls it snug at Blaine’s collar, flips the collar back down, and adjusts the folds of the knot. “I swear he’d wear a clip-on if it weren’t for me.”

Blaine is struck by the realization that he’s watched his parents in this same position over the years, his mother fussing with his father’s tie on their way out somewhere, and he’s seen it a million times with married couples on TV. The thought almost rocks Blaine back on his heels. Not that it’s the same, because obviously a big part of the whole appeal of Kurt to Blaine is that he is _not_ female and even if he were he wouldn’t be Blaine’s _wife_ , but there’s something about the act of one person caring for another in such a simple way that makes his stomach flip and his heart rise into his throat.

He has this. He really does. He has a boyfriend. He has someone who cares about him. _Him_. They’re a _couple_. He’s part of a couple.

“There. Perfect.” Kurt tucks the end of Blaine’s tie into his blazer and steps back. “Ready?”

Blaine nods. “Thank you.” His voice doesn’t sound quite like his own, but Kurt doesn’t seem to notice.

“I am always available for any sort of wardrobe emergency.”

“I’m counting on it.” Blaine realizes he is. He _can_ , because Kurt’s his _boyfriend_. He smiles and guides Kurt toward the door with a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I really want to sing.”

*

Spring in Ohio is mercurial at best. The morning can start out sunny and with the promise of blue skies and calm breezes, and by the evening it can be raw and damp enough to leave bare skin feeling clammy. It is why Kurt reads at least two different weather feeds every morning, he explains, so that he has all of the appropriate wardrobe selections he might need throughout the day.

Blaine mostly just looks outside and grabs something from his closet.

“You know, you can get the weather forecast on your phone,” Kurt tells him as Blaine attempts not to look cold in his short sleeves as he helps Kurt wash the dishes after another weekend dinner at the Hummel-Hudson house. “As well as your computer. And this amazing new device called the television.”

“Television? Gosh, is that anything like a radio?” Blaine asks, nudging Kurt with his elbow. He doesn’t let himself linger, even though Kurt and the sweater he is wearing are both warm.

“Yes, but it has _pictures_ that _move_.”

Blaine rises up on his toes to put the last of the plates away. “Wow. What will they think of next? Horseless carriages? Shoes you don’t shine?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. A properly shined shoe will always be a thing of beauty.” Kurt wipes his hands and hangs the dishtowel on its hook. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure,” Blaine says smiling at him.

Kurt glances out into the living room and then comes over to Blaine where he’s leaning against the counter. He leans in for a soft, quick kiss and then runs his hands down Blaine’s arms. Goosebumps rise along the path of Kurt’s touch, and they’re not just from the pleasure of it. “Oh, you _are_ cold,” he says with a frown.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s fifty degrees out, and you are wearing a t-shirt.”

Blaine shrugs, because he is pretty chilly, but it doesn’t seem manly to admit it.

Kurt rolls his eyes like he can read Blaine’s mind. “Come here.” He takes Blaine’s hand and leads him upstairs.

“Keep the door open,” Kurt’s dad calls behind them.

“We’ll only be a minute, Dad,” Kurt calls back.

Kurt drops Blaine’s hand as soon as they’re in his room, and he heads straight for his closet. “Hmm, let me see...”

Having had enough experience with Kurt and his wardrobe, Blaine sits on the bed and prepares to amuse himself for a little while. He’s about to pull out his phone when Kurt turns around with a deep grey cardigan in his hands. “Here.”

“What’s this?” When Blaine takes it, he finds that it is dense and soft; his fingers warm up immediately.

“A sweater. It’s from last year,” Kurt admits, “but it should fit you. And it goes with your shirt.”

Blaine looks back and forth between Kurt and the cardigan. He knows how Kurt treasures his clothes. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Between you and me, it’s machine washable.” Kurt whispers the last two words, and Blaine can’t help but grin at him. “But I’d trust you with a McQueen.”

Blaine is struck momentarily speechless by that statement, and Kurt takes the sweater from him and holds it out by its lapels.

“Put it on, Blaine,” Kurt says. There’s a frown forming in his eyes. “Or - “

Shaking his head, Blaine stands up and turns so that Kurt can help him put it on. It is _so_ warm, and he feels even warmer when Kurt walks around him and carefully buttons it up partway. The brush of his fingers through the layers of material makes Blaine’s breath catch.

“There.” Kurt smooths down the sweater over Blaine’s chest and steps back. He appraises him for a moment. “I think it looks better on you than it does on me,” he says with some surprise.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Like I ever joke about fashion.”

Blaine laughs, just a little, and says, “Thank you for lending it to me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kurt tells him, his eyes gleaming as they rove up and down Blaine’s body. “In more ways than one. Huh.” He takes Blaine’s hand again, holding it tightly. “I am learning new things about myself tonight.”

“Oh?”

A flush rises on Kurt’s cheeks. “Apparently I like you wearing my clothes.”

“Are you criticizing my fashion sense?”

“No. I just like you being _mine_.”

Blaine’s heart skips a beat. “I like it, too,” he says, and Kurt gives him a brilliant smile and another soft kiss that turns into four or five before Kurt’s dad calls them back downstairs.

The sweater is warm, but the thing that really wards off Blaine’s chill is the way Kurt looks at him, thoughtful and possessive, for the rest of the night.

*

Homework is a necessary evil.

Obviously Blaine wants a good future, and that means a good education, which means going to a good college, which means getting good grades at Dalton, which means doing his homework. So he does it, and he honestly doesn't mind all that much, because he is pretty smart and likes learning. It can be a drag, but it isn't horrible.

Well, it wasn't horrible before he started dating Kurt. Back when they were just friends, they could share one of the big wooden tables in the library for the afternoon and sit in comfortable silence as they did their work. Occasionally they might exchange sympathetic glances or trade whispered complaints about their assignments. It was a nice way to feel less alone with their books. It made the time go faster.

Now when they sit together, though, Blaine can't concentrate at all. He's distracted by the warmth of Kurt's ankle tucked against his own beneath the table, by the golden afternoon light glinting off of Kurt's eyelashes, by the way Kurt's long fingers grip his pen as he writes. He spends a good hour one day surreptitiously watching the tendons in Kurt's wrist flex as he turns the pages of his book. He wants to taste the skin covering them so badly that he has to go outside for a few minutes to cool off.

Kurt, as ever, seems to be untouched by such things, and Blaine doesn't know whether he should be offended or just thankful that Kurt doesn't notice his mooning after him.

It doesn't matter, really, because Kurt is still so damn distracting, and now he's idly running the end of his pen up and down the side of his throat as he reads. Blaine watches the tip of the cap glide up and down, up and down along his neck, just barely dipping beneath the pristine white collar at his throat. Kurt seems to have no idea he's doing it, and Blaine cannot for the life of him look away. It is mesmerizing. His heart starts to race, and he's glad there's this big wooden table between them and many other students around or else he'd already have dragged Kurt into his lap and traced that very same path with his lips and tongue.

Glad is not the right word, he realizes. He'd much rather have Kurt in his lap than have to behave himself. It's just good that he has more of a reason to keep himself under control than his own code of behavior. Being with Kurt sometimes - not always, maybe not most of the time because he loves being a good boyfriend of the charming variety, but definitely sometimes - makes him want to toss it out of the window, give in to every base desire that flows through him, and just crash through Kurt's defenses to pull him along on the ride.

But they are in the library right now, so he can't act on that urge. All he can do is try to keep the groan in his throat from escaping when Kurt raises his arms and stretches back in his chair, the movement making the crisp fabric of his shirt pull taut across his very nicely shaped chest. Then Kurt leans back even more.

Blaine rockets out of his seat.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks softly, frozen mid-stretch.

Everything is wrong. Everything. From the people around them to the layers of clothes they are both wearing, everything is wrong. He wants so much, not just the physical but _everything_ from Kurt, and this is so not the right place for it.

"I need something from the stacks," Blaine manages to say and rushes off without another word.

The library is a busy place at this time of the afternoon, with most extracurriculars over for the day, the weather gloomy, and the dorms still locked for another hour, so it takes Blaine a few minutes of wandering and polite hellos to friends to find a quiet, solitary spot among the shelves by a rain-drenched window.

He presses his forehead to the glass, breathes deeply, and tries to think of anything but Kurt.

It doesn't work, but at least wanting to be _with_ Kurt again gives him a reason to start to regain his composure. If everyone could just leave him alone for a few minutes...

"Blaine?" Kurt asks in a concerned whisper from not very far behind him, and Blaine jumps and spins in surprise. Kurt backs away and holds up his hands like he's calming a crazy person, which Blaine kind of thinks he is right now. "Sorry. I was just worried about you. Are you okay?"

Blaine gives him a shaky nod and says, "Yeah. I just needed to move around a little."

“Too much studying, not enough furniture jumping?”

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

Kurt glances around and then gets a gleam in his eye Blaine doesn’t immediately know how to interpret. He prowls forward in a loose-limbed way Blaine really had no idea Kurt could manage, and he’s smirking by the time he stops in front of Blaine. “Or did something else distract you?” He runs the tip of his finger down Blaine’s tie.

It takes a second for Blaine to get it. “You were doing that on purpose,” he says, amazed and really, really turned on. Kurt doesn’t _do_ this kind of thing, except he clearly _does_.

“Doing what?” Kurt asks, not trying to feign innocence in the slightest.

“You know exactly what.” Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand and pulls him in. “You were driving me _crazy_ ,” he murmurs in Kurt’s ear and gets a shiver in response.

"Was I?" Kurt sounds delighted.

"I am going to fail my Chem quiz tomorrow because of you," Blaine tells him.

Kurt's breath is hot and damp against his ear. "Then maybe I should let you get back to studying. I have more to do, too," he says with a voice full of mischief. He tugs at his hand a little, but Blaine doesn't let go.

Instead he kisses Kurt's hand from his palm down to the cuff of his sleeve open-mouthed, with just a hint of teeth. Kurt's hand curls inward, like he's trying to capture the sensation. "Oh, I have other things I need to do first," Blaine says. He slowly kisses each of Kurt's fingers in turn, first the backs and then the tips.

Kurt's eyes are wide, and he loses the sultry smile and replaces it with something more full of awe and desperation. "I don't think I thought this through," he says weakly, and Blaine can't help but laugh. It's either that or drag Kurt to the floor and hope the librarians are busy elsewhere.

"This is _all_ I'm going to be able to think about," Blaine says.

“Me, too,” Kurt admits. He glances around at the quiet library around them. “Yeah, I _really_ didn’t think this through.” He turns his hand in Blaine’s grip and laces their fingers together. “Sorry?”

“No.” Blaine tugs Kurt closer, flush against him, and slips an arm around his waist. “No, you are not apologizing.”

Kurt smiles, just a little. “Okay.” He looks around again, this time with more focus. “Then I’m going to do this, instead.” Without further warning, he leans in to kiss Blaine, and it’s anything but tentative. After a few seconds, he brings his hand up to cup Blaine’s cheek, the other pressing against Blaine’s lower back. The kiss isn’t merely a touch of their mouths; it’s a caress all along their bodies, from Kurt’s leg nudging between Blaine’s to their chests rising and falling against each other in time with their rough breathing. It’s the heat of Kurt’s thigh against Blaine’s and the way his fingers skim along Blaine’s temple at the edge of his hairline. It’s the slow heat burning low in Blaine’s belly, which forces a groan from him when Kurt’s kisses become harder and his teeth nip at Blaine’s lip.

“Shh,” Kurt says, soothing the spot with kisses that do nothing to cool Blaine off. “This is a library.” There’s a smile in his voice. If Blaine were forced to admit it, he’d say there was a hint of pride there, too. That Kurt is enjoying getting a reaction out of him is almost as thrilling as the kisses, themselves. He’s been letting Kurt set the pace between them, because the last thing Blaine wants to do is push, and he’s honestly thrilled with anything Kurt wants to give him, but, wow, this is the best pace _ever_.

“God, Kurt, you have no idea how much I want to - " Blaine breaks off, unsure of how much he should say, not just in the library but at all.

"What?" When Blaine doesn’t immediately answer, Kurt pulls back and looks at him, his fingers still teasing the edge of Blaine’s hair.

"I don't know. Everything." At the hint of apprehension that flashes across Kurt’s face he adds, "Not now, not all at once. But I do. God, I do. With you."

Kurt’s eyes spark with some strong emotion, and Blaine finds himself being kissed again. His head thunks against the bookcase when Kurt backs him against it, but Kurt doesn’t stop; he just holds Blaine’s face and pours himself into the kiss. Blaine clings back and rides the wave of emotion and arousal. He knows they have to stop in a minute and go back to their table and their homework, but not yet. Not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine has never really looked at the mirror in his dorm room. Looked _in_ it a thousand times, sure, to check his hair or his tie, but he's never really looked at the item itself. The frame is made of some fine-grained wood - birch, probably, since Dalton has money but wouldn't be so foolish as to spend it all on cherry furniture for a bunch of teenage boys. It is stained a medium tone, the corners mitered neatly where they fit together. The mirror itself is of a good quality, unwarped and shiny. It reflects Blaine's dorm room without distortion, from his desk with his computer and pile of homework to his blazer hung on the back of his chair.

He can see Kurt's arm in the mirror and a bit of his shoulder, too. If he moved a little he could see Kurt's face there as well.

What he doesn't see there is his own face, and for that he is grateful. He doesn't want to know what he looks like right now. He's trying to remain composed, but all of his muscles have gone numb. He can't tell if he's smiling or frowning. He can't feel his fingers. He can barely make himself breathe.

"You’re going back to McKinley,” Blaine says, summarizing the key point of the story Kurt has spent the past ten minutes telling him. Kurt’s sitting as stiffly as a statue at the foot of Blaine’s bed, his hands clasped in his lap and his back perfectly straight beneath his familiar navy sweater. Blaine is suddenly struck by the thought that he won’t see Kurt in the Dalton uniform for much longer. He knows he’ll miss Kurt for far more important reasons than the appealing sight of him in the uniform, but in this moment he’s the most upset about losing that visible reinforcement that Kurt is _here_ , a part of _his_ life, every day.

“Yes. You knew I wanted to,” Kurt says, drawing himself up even taller. “You knew why I had the meeting this morning.”

“I know, Kurt. I do.” Blaine had known about everything, about Kurt missing his friends and not wanting to blend in at Dalton, about Kurt wanting to have a solo with New Directions and wear his own clothes every day. He’d known about Kurt’s worries about what having to face Karofsky today might entail. Of course he’d hoped for Kurt that the meeting would go well. What he hadn’t planned for was feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach when Kurt came back to school after lunch and told him he was leaving. He's glad it's a Wednesday and the dorms are unlocked early; he can't imagine having to have this conversation in public. “When? How long until - ?"

“I will be transferring as quickly as the paperwork can be processed,” Kurt tells him. He looks like he’s meeting Blaine’s eyes but actually seems to be focusing on his forehead instead. “They said a few days at the most. Not long.” The last word comes out very softly. Tentatively.

"Okay." Blaine takes a second to let that sink in. _Not long._

"I wanted to tell you in person; it seemed rude over the phone," Kurt says to the floor when a second lengthens into more than a minute and Blaine still isn't speaking.

Pulling himself together, Blaine realizes Kurt is nervous, not about the transfer but about _him_ , and he pushes away from the door and comes to crouch down in front of Kurt, taking his hands. “Hey,” he says softly, and he waits until Kurt really looks at him. “I’m happy for you. I am.” He tries to put every bit of truth he can into those words.

Kurt relaxes a little, relief clear on his face. “Thank you,” he says.

“I’m glad you can be with your friends again, now that you’ll be safe there.” Blaine means that, too, and doesn’t think about what _he’ll_ be losing.

“It’s the right decision. I know I - Obviously I never really fit in here.” He gestures to himself, meaning something Blaine doesn't understand; Kurt fit perfectly into Blaine's Dalton from the first minute he saw him on the stairs.

“No, Kurt. You’ve been an _amazing_ addition to Dalton.”

Kurt snorts in disbelief.

"You have."

“Well.” The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitches up, though the expression can’t quite be called a smile, and he leans in like he’s sharing a secret. “I hate to mention it, but you’re pretty biased on the subject.”

Blaine has to grin, because he completely is. “Yeah,” he says. “What gave it away?”

Kurt pretends to think about it. “Ultimately, all of the kissing. And at least a few of the songs you sang to me.”

“Only a few?”

“Your choice of songs for wooing is iffy at best.”

“Iffy?” Blaine presses a hand over his heart and looks wounded; he doesn’t really have to act. He loves the songs he picks.

"At best."

"Ouch."

“It’s kind of sweet,” Kurt says, tilting his head, “in its own misguided way.”

Blaine smiles at him, fond as ever, but his stomach roils and his heart hurts. Kurt must see something in his expression, because he squeezes Blaine’s hand and smiles back sadly.

"I'm going to miss you." Kurt says it first, and Blaine is surprised. He would have guessed Kurt’s eyes were more focused on what lay ahead than what he was leaving behind.

"I'm going to miss you, too," he replies. "But we'll still see each other."

Kurt nods, and they each brighten a little at the reassurance they apparently both need.

"Still," Kurt says softly, "this change is not without one pretty big drawback."

"The cloud to the silver lining," Blaine agrees, and he can't quite keep his voice steady.

Kurt searches his face for a moment and then toes off his shoes. "Come here." He scoots up the bed and lies back to rest his head on Blaine's pillow. He rolls on his side and pats the other half of the narrow mattress.

Blaine slides into place beside him and takes Kurt's hand. He kisses it before placing it over his heart and holding it there. Kurt's fingers press just a little into his shirt, into the muscles beneath.

"This is what I'll miss most of all," Kurt tells him in the gentle tone Blaine thinks is reserved only for him. "The little bits of time we get around everything else."

Blaine thinks of not having Kurt's hand to hold at Warblers practice, not having Kurt to smile at or walk with in the halls as they change classes, not having Kurt to sit next to at lunch or in the library, not having Kurt to sing to and play with when the Warblers serenade the school, not having Kurt to laugh with over the thousand little things every day that strike him as funny. He knows he did all of these things before Kurt and enjoyed them, but now everything feels like it will be empty. Something - someone - will always be missing.

He can’t do anything about it. Kurt is leaving. He wants to leave, and he should go. So all Blaine can do is nod and pull Kurt in against him, tangling their limbs like they were a puzzle made to fit. He keeps Kurt’s hand at his chest and slips the other around Kurt’s waist. Kurt traces gentle designs on the back of Blaine’s neck with the tips of his fingers and curls his foot around Blaine’s ankle.

Blaine kisses Kurt gently but only once, then presses their foreheads together. It doesn’t feel like the time for passion. Instead, they settle into breathing each other's air, just being close.

 _Not long_ , he hears Kurt’s voice say in his mind.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to be in the moment. He wants to enjoy it while they have the time.

*

Later that afternoon, Blaine walks Kurt to his car as he has done dozens of times before. They take it slowly, their hands linked together, and Kurt checks the time on his phone when they reach the day student lot.

“I know you’ll have to sprint to dorm dinner, and I’m going to have to dodge getting a speeding ticket as it is, but can you give me a few more minutes?” Kurt asks.

 _I’d give you anything_ , Blaine thinks, but all he says is, “Of course.”

Kurt walks them over to one of the big oak trees that line the edge of the lot and tugs Blaine down to sit beneath it with him. Blaine thinks Kurt being willing to get his uniform dirty is the surest sign yet that he’s already left Dalton. He allows Kurt to position him with his back against the wide tree trunk, and Kurt tucks himself in the curve of Blaine’s arm, his back against Blaine’s chest. He threads his hands through Blaine’s fingers where they rest on his stomach.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, the words seeming to be bigger than just about the extra few minutes together, though that may just be Blaine’s wishful thinking.

Blaine kisses the side of Kurt’s head and breathes in the now familiar scent of his hair while they look out over the mostly deserted parking lot. For once he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Kurt whispers at last.

“What? Going back?”

“Going back. Having you. I never thought I’d - “ Kurt stops abruptly and shrugs, his shoulders shifting against Blaine’s chest.

“You deserve it all and more,” Blaine murmurs in his ear. “Enjoy it.”

Kurt huffs out a soft laugh and squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Oh, I am. I am.”

They lapse into silence again, and Blaine tries to find a way to put his emotions into words that are neither burdensome nor pitiful. He isn’t having much luck.

But then Kurt’s phone rings in his bag, belting out a tinny version of “Bust Your Windows,” and to Blaine’s surprise Kurt grabs for it. “Sorry. Mercedes has left me approximately twenty-seven messages and fifty texts this afternoon. Let me just -

“Hi,” he says into the phone. “Can I call you in a few from the car? I need to say goodbye to Blaine.”

Blaine closes his eyes and focuses on the way Kurt’s fingers keep stroking the backs of his instead of the hollow feeling in his chest. The hair rises on his arm at how good Kurt’s touch feels, which isn’t particularly convenient, but at least it’s a distraction.

“I don’t know yet,” Kurt is saying. “Figgins will call my dad tonight. Soon, though.” He laughs at something Mercedes says, clasping Blaine’s hand more tightly. “I know. It will be good to be home.” He sounds so happy, and Blaine tries to hold onto his own joy for him. Kurt doesn’t need him to dull the moment.

“Seriously, let me call you from the car. We can talk all about it. Blaine’s got to get to dinner.”

Blaine tightens his arm and sighs. He wonders if he should just stand up and let Kurt have his moment.

“Don’t you dare,” Kurt says to him over his shoulder, but his eyes go soft at something Mercedes says over the phone. “Yes, I’m going to talk to Mr. Schue about it, but I know he’ll give me a few minutes at the start of practice. I can’t wait to sing for you guys.”

Kurt is going to perform. Kurt, who spent almost all of his time in the Warblers in the background, the background that Blaine had once told him to try to blend into, because Blaine is a _moron_ , is going back to New Directions, and the first thing he is going to do is stand up in front of them and sing for them. Because he wants to. Because he can.

For a moment, Blaine is wildly, insanely jealous of the entirety of McKinley High, who will have Kurt and not appreciate him the way Blaine does. But he also hears the excitement and hope in Kurt’s voice and feels for the first time the rightness of Kurt leaving all the way into the deepest parts of his heart. Kurt isn't meant to be at Dalton; he is meant to be himself.

“ _Mercedes_ , stop,” Kurt says, laughing, but it’s Blaine’s arm he brings up to hug him around his chest in his excitement, Blaine’s face he turns to with a luminous smile. “I know exactly what I’m going to sing.”

Blaine kisses Kurt’s hair again and just holds on, feeling so fortunate that he gets to be along for the ride.

*

 _from Kurt:_  
7:45 am - Why does homeroom still smell like old socks? They haven’t cleaned since I left?  
7:46 am - (I’m fine. Stop worrying.)

 _from Blaine:_  
8:20 am - All school assembly this morning: bookbags left in front hall during lunch create decline of civilization.

 _from Kurt:_  
8:45 am - People underestimate the importance of proper bag placement in preventing us from becoming Lord of the Flies.

 _from Blaine:_  
12:10 pm - The dining hall has those grilled chicken sandwiches you like for lunch today.  
12:25 pm - I stole some of Trent’s sweet potato fries, and he tried to stab me with his fork. Good thing I have fast reflexes.

 _from Kurt:_  
1:05 pm - I think the salad in the cafeteria is the exact same one they were serving when I left. I recognize some of the wilted bits of lettuce.  
1:07 pm - Try to distract him before you grab for the fries. It always worked with me.  
1:12 pm - Just don’t flirt with him to distract him.

 _from Blaine:_  
1:28 pm - Never.

1:45 pm - The dean’s toupee finally blew off in the wind! It sailed halfway across the quad like a flying squirrel and landed in the big fountain!  
1:46 pm - You should have been here to see it!  
1:46 pm - I didn’t mean it like that.  
1:48 pm - I mean, you know I miss you. But I know you want to be there. I’m not putting pressure on you.  
1:50 pm - You know what I mean, right?  
1:58 pm - Sorry.  
2:05 pm - Damn it, I have to go to practice.

 _from Kurt:_  
2:26 pm - I know what you mean.  
2:27 pm - And it’s cute when you babble, even over text. :)

 _from Blaine:_  
3:04 pm - :P  
3:04 pm - :)

*

Blaine hates being late. He was brought up to believe that punctuality is a fundamental part of good manners, and he can feel his blood pressure rising with every minute his watch ticks past the time he was supposed to meet Kurt. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t his fault. It doesn’t matter that Warblers practice ran over, there was horrible traffic, and then he had to park two blocks away because every single spot closer to the Lima Bean was taken. It doesn’t matter that he texted ten minutes before he was supposed to be there or that he’s sent frequent updates, so it’s not like Kurt is sitting there worrying; he still just _hates_ being late.

So it is only with great force of will that he holds the door for an elderly couple leaving the cafe instead of barging in the way he wants to so he can see his _boyfriend_ for the very limited time they now get to see each other during the week, the time that is even more limited today because he is _late_. It has been four days since they’ve seen each other in person, and he doesn’t want to wait a minute more. Still, he is an Anderson, and he holds the door and returns the woman’s smile. Then he barges in.

His eyes find Kurt immediately. He isn’t the easily recognizable figure in navy and red he used to be, and his outfit today is fairly muted in grey, white, and black, though he is the only person Blaine can see in a bow tie in the cafe, but Blaine still can pick him out instantly across the crowded room. He glows. He has a light around him that Blaine never knew was missing until he left Dalton.

When they met, Kurt was hurting so much from the bullying that he was a faint shell of himself. When Kurt transferred to Dalton, the shadow of fear left his eyes, but he wasn’t happy having to blend in. He was content, he had moments with Blaine of real brightness, but he wasn’t happy. He didn’t light up until after Blaine had figured out his own feelings, and that was a different sort of light.

Blaine hadn’t understood any of that until Kurt went back to McKinley with his friends.

Now Kurt glows all of the time. He still walks with the same perfect posture he had at Dalton, but instead of being constrained by his uniform his gait is accentuated in just the right ways by his clothing. His smiles are brighter. His cutting remarks are more pointed. His singing is more powerful. His hair is more perfectly styled. His head is held high out of pride and not just out of determination.

So although Blaine misses seeing Kurt every day and although a part of him wishes that _he_ could have been enough to give Kurt his light back, Blaine _loves_ watching Kurt be Kurt. He gives himself a minute just to drink in the sight of him.

Kurt didn’t come alone today; he’s sitting with Rachel and Mercedes, all three of them talking animatedly. He sees Kurt say something, and the girls crack up. Rachel pats his arm; Mercedes rolls her eyes, and Kurt grins back at her, flipping his perfect, perfect hair in response. Blaine ducks his head and smiles to himself, trying to contain the fluttering in his stomach as he weaves through the tables. There he is, and he’s Blaine’s boyfriend.

“Hi, Blaine!” Rachel chirps when she spots him. Mercedes says something in greeting, too, but Blaine’s focused on Kurt, whose eyes light up when he sees Blaine. Kurt presses his lips together, probably to keep his smile to whatever he thinks is an appropriate public level, and nudges out the chair beside him.

“Hi Rachel, Mercedes,” Blaine says to them in turn, then smiles at Kurt. He can’t help it, not that he wants to. “Hi, Kurt.”

“Your medium drip,” Kurt says by way of greeting, gesturing to the cup at Blaine’s spot. “I got it for you two minutes ago, per your helpful text updates, so it should still be hot.”

Blaine hooks his bag over the back of the chair and slides into the seat. “Thank you,” he says with feeling, picking up the coffee. The caffeine won’t calm his jittery pulse from the afternoon, but he could use the rush to help him get over it.

Then Kurt’s hand reaches for his and finds it unerringly beneath the table, and a wave of _rightness_ crashes over Blaine, washes away his fatigue and grumpiness, and leaves him feeling happy, energized, and at peace. It’s like magic. It’s like a drug. If they could bottle it, they’d make endless millions, and there would be no more war or crime. Since they obviously can’t, Blaine just rides the high and smiles at Kurt.

He jumps into the conversation where appropriate - they’re talking about Mr. Schue and his latest attempt at choreography, so there isn’t that much for him to say - but mostly he just coasts along, drinking his coffee, watching Kurt talk, and holding onto his hand. Even when Kurt gets worked into a high dudgeon over Finn’s inability to follow simple steps forcing them all to dumb down the routine and his left hand is flailing with frustration as he speaks, his right stays still and secure in Blaine’s grip. There is not a single twitch like he wants to use it, too.

“ - all of the amazing _walking around on stage_ we get to do almost makes me miss the days of Mr. Schue’s infatuation with jazz hands,” Kurt snaps.

“Almost,” Mercedes says with a shudder.

“I, for one, appreciate the timely and appropriate incorporation of jazz hands,” Rachel says, and Mercedes rolls her eyes at her.

“If you want, I could always come teach you guys the secret of the Warblers’ special two-step,” Blaine offers blandly, watching for Kurt’s reaction. “Now that we’re not competing with each other it wouldn’t be disloyal of me to help.”

Kurt turns and fixes him with a glare that could fell an elephant at fifty paces. Blaine, not being an elephant or just being used to - fine, infatuated with - Kurt, thinks it’s adorable. “Do not even get me started on the Warblers’ choreography. I will take walking over hopping back and forth like arthritic frogs any day.” His glare sharpens. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“He’s really too easy to wind up,” Blaine says to Mercedes.

“It’s not even fun,” she agrees.

“You want to see not easy to wind up, Blaine Warbler?” Kurt asks with a haughty lift of his eyebrow. “I will show you a _world_ of not easy.” He lets go of Blaine’s hand and rises from his chair. “I will get another coffee, and then I will sit here and be calm and mundane and _boring_. Much like our choreography.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, his amusement fading. He can’t take it too personally when he knows Kurt is worked up about something else entirely, but he still doesn’t like the way Kurt is looking at him. They have so little time together that he doesn’t want to waste it on a silly joke apparently gone sour. “I don’t think you could be boring if you tried. And none of us wants you to.”

Kurt’s face softens a touch, and he smooths down the front of his already perfectly tidy vest. “Fine,” he says. “Then I will get another coffee and continue to be amazing. Do any of you want anything?” They shake their heads. “All right. I’ll be back.”

When he returns with his drink he also has a plate with two of Blaine’s favorite biscotti on them, and he slides it over without comment. Blaine breaks one in half and offers it back to him, since he knows getting Kurt to take a whole one would be pushing it. Kurt looks at it, then at Blaine’s face, before accepting it. A minute or two later, his hand finds its way back into Blaine’s, and the world rights itself once more.

The girls and Kurt go back to discussing New Directions, which of course turns to the interpersonal drama of the day. Santana, being Santana, features prominently.

“You should have seen the look on her face when Kurt called her sense of style ‘hooker chic’,” Mercedes says, laughing. “I thought she was going to pull a knife from somewhere.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Kurt says. “She knows I’m right. And there was _nowhere_ to hide a knife in that dress. Besides, it got her to leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

Rachel sighs. “If only she’d done the same to the rest of us.”

Blaine puts down his coffee, a chill going up his spine. His fingers tighten on Kurt’s. “Wait, I thought she was supposed to be protecting you. Wasn’t that part of the deal?”

Kurt shrugs off the question, barely glancing in Blaine’s direction. “It was fine.”

“But - “

“Karofsky took him to his car instead,” Rachel says.

“Don’t worry too much about your boo at McKinley,” Mercedes tells Blaine. “We’ve got his back, and the Bully Whips are like his own personal bodyguards.”

“Yes, they escort me from class to class like it's an ancient Roman victory parade and I’m Boudicca,” Kurt says, toying with his cup. “Or possibly a serial killer on death row.”

Mercedes laughs and says, “I was thinking more Gaga being swarmed by paparazzi.”

Rachel leans across the table toward Blaine. “Between you and me, I find the whole club somewhat distasteful. I mean, I am obviously fully behind keeping Kurt safe, because I am his friend even if he _is_ my greatest competition for Broadway-based solos, but the Bully Whips draw more attention to him being - ” She makes exaggerated air-quotes. “ - ‘different’ rather than educating the school on actual tolerance.”

Kurt’s smile is pained. “I do love standing out,” he says with forced lightness.

Blaine opens his mouth, closes it, and frowns down at his coffee cup. It is Kurt’s decision to be at McKinley, and Blaine respects that. He does. He _does_ , even if he doesn’t like always what that choice entails. His job is not to wrap Kurt in bubble wrap (or a navy blazer) and protect him; his job is to support whatever Kurt wants to do. Kurt gets to make all of his own daily decisions. That’s how it works. Blaine’s not even there to see most of them.

“But there’s no point in being back if you can’t tell off Santana when she’s being a bitch,” Mercedes says.

"Which is pretty much all the time," Kurt replies, they all laugh, the conversation spins on, and Blaine takes comfort in the strength of Kurt’s hand in his and the way their shoulders almost touch as they lean closer together. The rest is unimportant.

Finally, Blaine’s phone chirps his absolutely-must-be-driving-back-to-Dalton-in-the-next-ten-minutes alarm, and it is time to go. Mercedes forgets her phone on the table, and Kurt goes with her to get it, murmuring something in her ear that makes her grin and smack his arm. While Kurt’s back is turned, Rachel raises herself up on her toes to give Blaine a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you and I didn’t work out as a couple; I think it’s turned out better this way,” she whispers, and Blaine can only try to contain his laughter and say, “Me, too.”

Blaine says goodbye to the girls at the door, and Kurt walks him to his car. The sidewalks are busy, and they can’t really talk until they get to where Blaine is parked. They don’t hold hands, either, though their fingers brush together when they are able to find space to walk side by side. Each little touch makes Blaine’s heart race.

When they reach Blaine’s hard-won parking spot, he turns to Kurt, already missing him, and just looks at him for a minute, trying to absorb every bit of him. It will be days until they’re together in person again. It feels like forever, and he’s not ready to be apart.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks, reaching up toward Blaine's lapel but drawing back before he makes contact.

"Yes," Blaine replies. He frowns at Kurt's hand, which has landed on the strap of his bag instead. "Of course. I mean, I was frustrated about being late when I came in, but..." The issue of Kurt’s safety is not something he can bring up; he’s aware his opinions aren’t needed at this point, no matter how strongly he may feel about things. "Honestly, Kurt, I'm fine."

Kurt tilts his head and studies him for a moment, obviously trying to judge the truth of his answer. "You were quieter than normal today."

Blaine casts his mind back, considering the conversation. He’d talked. He supposes he could have said more, though he isn't as up on life at McKinley as they are, but he didn't feel the need to be on. He hadn't had to perform for them or put on his party game face. It had been nice, actually, just to be there with Kurt, watching him. It’s a luxury now. "If I was, it was just because I was happy to be with you."

He tries not to fidget under Kurt's scrutiny, because he’s sad to be leaving and doesn’t want to dump that burden on him, too, and Kurt finally nods. His shoulders relax, and he lets go of his bag to brush the bit of lint off of Blaine's lapel. "That is an acceptable reason," he says, and he smiles just a little.

"Oh, good.” Blaine aims for charming to see if he can get that smile larger. “Otherwise I'll have to find the time to study up on the latest in coffee date conversation topics, and I'm kind of swamped with this English presentation I have next week. I mean, I'd find the time - you're important to me - but I might have to skip showering for a few days."

As expected, Kurt wrinkles his nose at the thought. "Maybe it's good most of our conversations happen over Skype."

Blaine can’t keep his smile from wavering, and he reaches out for Kurt’s hand. “Not really,” he says.

“Not really,” Kurt agrees softly. He squeezes Blaine’s fingers.

Blaine’s phone makes the sound of a submarine alarm, and he knows he absolutely has to get in his car right now or risk being confined to campus on the weekend for being late for dorm dinner again. “I have to go.” It is the worst feeling in the world; being with Rachel and Mercedes at the Lima Bean was fun, as always, but all of the sudden he is struck by how little of Kurt _he_ actually got today. If it were any other punishment, he would stay and breathe him in, but if he’s stuck on campus on the weekend he can’t see Kurt, so it’s just not an option.

“I know.” Kurt glances around. There are plenty of people on the sidewalk, and he hesitates for a moment before darting in and pressing a swift kiss on Blaine’s mouth. Then he backs up and makes a shooing motion.

“I’ll call you tonight,” Blaine says, trying to hide the desperation flooding through him.

Kurt nods and clutches the strap of his bag. “Go,” he says, and Blaine does. He has no choice.

His chest hurts all the way back to school.


	4. Chapter 4

There aren’t a lot of positives for Blaine about Kurt having gone back to McKinley. Well, that’s not true. Kurt is happy, so that’s a huge positive. That’s the most important thing in the world.

But other than that, Kurt being at McKinley pretty much sucks for Blaine. They obviously don’t get to see each other during the day, they have classes at different times so they can’t text back and forth in rapid conversations in their breaks, and their exam and vacation weeks won’t line up. It doesn’t even make sense to study together anymore, because they don’t get any work done at all and aren’t taking the same subjects, anyway.

Blaine misses Kurt a lot, and he hates that he wasted so much of Kurt’s time at Dalton thinking they were meant to be just _friends_ when he could have enjoyed his _boyfriend_ being there _every day_. The only plus side is that Kurt misses him, too, and Kurt seems to be growing increasingly comfortable about taking advantage of the time they do have together.

It’s pretty hard to remember why Blaine is unhappy at all, though, when he has Kurt stretched out on top of him on Kurt's bed, pushing Blaine’s shirt up and doing something so amazing to his ribs with his mouth that Blaine can barely remember his own name, nevertheless the rest of his life. It’s probably just kissing, but Blaine is too caught up with the thrilling sensation of Kurt's _mouth_ on his _ribs_ that he can’t really be sure.

“Kurt,” he gasps, clutching at Kurt’s shoulders, because whether or not Blaine can remember his name he cannot forget himself so much that he’d put his hands in Kurt’s hair. Not that he doesn’t want to, because he wants to so badly, but then this might be over, and it can never, ever be over, and, god, were those _teeth_?

“Hmm?” The sound vibrates against Blaine’s skin and works deep into his body, like when he plays his music loud in the car with the bass turned up all the way and he can feel the beat all the way to his bones.

"I... This... You..."

"You seem to be having some trouble speaking," Kurt says smugly, his mouth shaping the words against Blaine's stomach and his hands spread wide over Blaine’s waist. "Do you need me to stop?"

It is an empty threat, Blaine knows it is, but he can't stop himself from grabbing Kurt's arms and pulling him upward. He pours out all of his eagerness into Kurt’s mouth and lets Kurt’s weight press him deep into the mattress, right where he wants to be. "No," he says between kiss after desperate kiss. "Don't ever stop."

Kurt starts working down Blaine's throat again after a little while, his hands moving on Blaine's skin like the best kind of torture, and then he abruptly sits back on his knees and says breathlessly but with great determination, “Okay, you simply must take this off. Now.” He tugs at Blaine’s shirt.

“Yes, okay. Okay. Yes.” Blaine has trouble getting his arms to do anything but grab for Kurt, but between the two of them somehow they manage to get his t-shirt over his head.

Kurt’s eyes go dark as he looks down at him, which curbs any nerves Blaine might have felt about his boyfriend seeing him completely shirtless for the first time. Kurt places his hand flat on Blaine’s shoulder and slowly slides his palm down his chest and stomach. His skin tingles where Kurt’s hand travels. Blaine hears Kurt’s breath hitch; Kurt’s jaw tightens for a minute, his eyes shutting. He looks overwhelmed or maybe upset.

“Kurt?” Blaine understands overwhelmed, because he can barely even process how good he feels when Kurt’s touching him, but upset isn’t okay.

“I’m fine,” Kurt says, his eyes flying open and his voice rough. He leans down to place a kiss over Blaine’s heart. His breath feels incredible as it brushes across Blaine's bare skin. His lips feel a thousand times better. “You are the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me,” he says fiercely, looking up at Blaine’s face. “And sometimes I just can’t believe it.”

Blaine’s heart catches in his throat at the sheer _emotion_ of it all, and he can’t get a word out before Kurt is kissing him, his mouth hot and unstoppable against Blaine's own. Blaine's hands rove over Kurt's still-clothed back as he opens his mouth under Kurt's onslaught and groans as their tongues slide against each other. Kurt's shirt has rough buttons down the front, and they rub against Blaine's skin like tiny bits of sandpaper. The bit of discomfort only makes the rest of Kurt feel more perfect against him, and his hands clench in the back of Kurt's shirt to keep from pulling it off without permission.

"You feel really, really good," Kurt says against the corner of Blaine's mouth. He sounds kind of awed.

Blaine tries to reply, but Kurt's hands are leaving him wired and aching as they map out his chest, and he is captivated by the feel of Kurt’s erection hard against his thigh. The best he can manage is a groan.

"You smell good, too," Kurt says, sucking hot, wet kisses down Blaine's throat and along his bare shoulder. "You always do. Most boys have no idea where the line between enticing and repulsive lies when it comes to the amount of aftershave one should use."

Blaine wants to know how on earth Kurt can be talking so calmly, if in a huskier register than usual, as he drives Blaine absolutely insane, and he wants to tell Kurt how amazing _he_ feels and smells and tastes, but what comes out is, "God, I've _missed_ you."

Kurt lifts his mouth, much to Blaine's dismay, and looks at him with deep, hungry eyes that echo the growling need in Blaine’s chest. "I've missed you, too." Then he dips his head, Blaine raises his from the pillow, and they meet in a hard kiss halfway.

A rapid knock on the door breaks them apart almost immediately. "Burt just pulled in the driveway," Finn says from out in the hall.

"He's early!" Kurt checks the clock and slides off the bed as Blaine reaches helplessly toward him.

"Tell _him_ that!" Finn replies, and his footsteps thud toward the stairs.

Blaine finds his shirt and tries to get it the right side out, but all of his blood left his brain long ago. It takes him far longer than it should to sort it out, and Kurt finishes straightening his hair and grabs the shirt from his hands.

“Here,” Kurt says and after about five seconds gives it back, somehow having figured out the tricky puzzle that is sleeves.

Blaine pulls his shirt over his head and smooths it down, every inch of his skin protesting the substitution of cotton for Kurt’s hands. The only good thing about the panic he feels at the idea of Kurt’s dad finding him shirtless and in Kurt’s bed is that it works kind of like a bucket of cold water being splashed over him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and shakes his head to clear it. "Okay. Okay," he mutters to himself. "Game face."

“We should - “ Kurt gestures at the door. His eyes are still dark, and his breathing is shaky.

“ - go downstairs and pretend we weren’t just making out?” Blaine finishes. He doesn’t trust himself to cross the few feet that separates them.

“Yes, that.” Kurt opens the door but lingers with his hand on the knob. He looks down at the carpet at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t make your dad come home early.”

“Obviously not,” Kurt says wryly. After another moment he meets Blaine’s eyes. “I meant for pushing things. And having to stop. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey, no. It’s okay,” Blaine tells him, taking a step forward. He takes Kurt’s hand and kisses the backs of his fingers, because all he wants to do is kiss him breathless, but he can’t. Kurt flushes, anyway, and he looks like he’s trying to hide his delight. “It's okay with me, all of it. I mean, I did _not_ want to stop, but it’s okay. Until we figure out the reverse curfew, where parents can’t come home until a certain time, we’ll just deal with it.”

Kurt smiles at him and looks like he’s going to say something else, but Burt’s voice drifts up to them as he greets Finn, and Kurt tugs Blaine out into the hallway and down the stairs.

Later, when they are ensconced on the couch watching a repeat of _Mythbusters_ with Finn as a thank you for stalling Burt the necessary minute or two when he got home, Kurt murmurs into Blaine’s ear, “Reverse curfew? Really?”

Blaine grins, partially at Kurt’s arch tone but mostly with the realization that Kurt must be replaying their afternoon in his head to make that remark, and lets his weight rest more fully against Kurt’s shoulder. “A guy can dream.”

“Make that two of us,” Kurt says, and Blaine takes his hand and holds it between his own for the rest of the show.

*

“How’s Wednesday?” Kurt asks from Blaine’s computer screen. Blaine can see Kurt's tidy room behind him, and he's still dressed from the school day in a red shirt that looks amazing on him. There are definitely some positives about Kurt no longer wearing a uniform. “I got an A on my History test; I think I can turn that into permission to drive to Dalton on a school day.” He bounces a little in his chair.

Blaine checks his battered leather-bound planner and sees something written in for that night. “We have a performance at another retirement home,” he says with a sigh. “I think Wes is still punishing us for losing Regionals.” He moves to the next day. “Thursday? I’m free after 3:30.”

Kurt scrolls through the calendar on his phone and shakes his head. “After school practice for Nationals. Which is ridiculous, because we don’t even have a set list yet, but I suppose we’ll need the extra time to argue more about it. Friday?” He scrolls again. “No, I can’t do Friday. Sleepover at Mercedes’ after an early family dinner. Saturday?”

Blaine doesn’t even have to look at his calender to answer. “Saturday’s the Warblers’ retreat at Thad’s parents’ lake house. We won’t be back ‘til curfew. Sunday?”

“Hmm, I have Glee practice at six. Lunch and an early afternoon movie?”

“I can't,” Blaine says, his heart falling. “I have a meeting for my French group project at one-thirty. It was the only time the four of us could meet all week.”

“Oh.” Kurt doesn’t lift his eyes to the screen; instead he puts his phone down on his desk and straightens it like it’s the most important thing in the world that it sits square on his desk. He’s quiet for a minute, and then he takes a deep breath and offers with a quick glance at the camera, “I don’t have to go to Mercedes’.”

Given how eager he is to spend time with Kurt, Blaine wants to accept the quiet suggestion, but he knows it isn’t right. “No, Kurt. She’s your friend, too. You already made plans.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything; he just fiddles with his phone some more. Finally he picks it up and says in a resigned voice, “Okay, let’s look at next week.”

Blaine hates this. He hates it being so hard sometimes to be able to see Kurt in person now that their schedules have nothing in common, and he hates even more making Kurt look so close to defeated about it. He scrambles to come up with some other answer. He can’t move the Warblers or his study group, and he can’t change Dalton’s curfew or his class schedule. About the only thing he has control over is when he sleeps, and he doubts Kurt would want to meet at two in the morning even if they could get out to see each other; apart from the obvious need for sleep, he’s heard enough about Kurt’s intensive overnight moisturizing regime to know it is a high priority in his life.

An idea strikes. It’s perfect. Well, it’s perfect if Kurt thinks it’s perfect.

“I know you might prefer to sleep in,” Blaine says, trying to sound as far from needy as he possibly can, “but I could come by Sunday morning, and we could go out to an early brunch. If you want.”

The picture on Blaine’s screen is grainy and skips a bit with the lag, but he can still see how Kurt’s eyes light up with the suggestion. Kurt straightens in his chair and says brightly, “I like brunch.”

Blaine smiles at him. “I like _you_ ,” he replies, and that gets him a full smile back. There might even be a blush, too, but Blaine can’t tell for sure.

“I like you, too.” After a minute of beaming at Blaine, Kurt looks down again. His thumbs move rapidly over his phone. “Okay, you’re in my calendar.”

Blaine scrawls _KURT!_ in his own planner over the entire morning up until his meeting. “And you’re in mine. Brunch on Sunday.”

“Brunch on Sunday,” Kurt repeats happily, and Blaine feels infinitely better than he did five minutes ago.

*

“I am not going to eat that,” Kurt says, pushing the plate back toward Blaine as they sit side by side at a table in the Lima Bean after school.

“Just a bite,” Blaine says. He pouts, but only a bit and in what he is sure is an endearing fashion.

Kurt stares at the plate. “It’s a cookie.”

“Exactly! It is a delicious, _warm_ , gooey, chocolate chip cookie. You should at least have a little.”

“ _No_ , Blaine.”

Blaine breaks apart the cookie, melted chocolate oozing out of its edges, and waves half in Kurt’s direction. “I got it for you,” he says.

The set of Kurt’s jaw softens for a moment, and then he narrows his eyes. “And now you’re lying to me, too? I happen to know these are your favorite cookies after the ones they put out in creepy shapes with royal icing and poorly color-coordinated sprinkles for various holidays.”

“They aren’t creepy; they’re cute,” Blaine protests, and then he realizes he’s kind of admitted Kurt’s point.

With a knowing raise of his eyebrow, Kurt says, “Thank you for the offer, but no.”

Blaine breaks off a tiny piece and lifts it to hover just in front of Kurt’s mouth. “Come on, Kurt. It’s so good, and I want to share it with you. Please? For me?”

Kurt’s tongue peeks out and moistens his lower lip, and Blaine can imagine what it would feel like, wet and agile, against the tips of his fingers when Kurt takes the cookie from his hand. And maybe there would be a bit of chocolate smeared on his finger when the cookie was gone, and Kurt would hold Blaine’s hand steady and lick it off slowly, delicately, thoroughly -

“My god, would the two of you just get a room already before I lose _my_ appetite?” Mercedes asks from across the table from Kurt.

Coming back to himself with a blink, Kurt fixes her with a haughty glare, but his ears start to turn pink. He takes Blane’s hand by the wrist and pushes it and the cookie it still holds away. “Let’s talk about our continuing lack of a set list for Nationals!” he says with forced cheer.

Blaine allows the conversation to be diverted, and he doesn’t mind eating all of the cookie by himself, because it really is delicious. Still, he notices Kurt watching him eat out of the corner of eye. When he licks his fingers clean instead of using his napkin he is rewarded with a lovely flush creeping up Kurt’s face that’s almost as delicious as the cookie.

Kurt fumbles his napkin and bends down to get it, and Mercedes shakes her head at Blaine. He raises his eyebrows, all innocence.

She smiles and clearly doesn’t believe him for a second.

*

“So, let’s go over the ground rules again,” Kurt says when they pull up in front of Puck’s house. “No drinking for you, because you are a designated driver. No more than one drink for me, because projectile vomiting is not a good look for anyone and because I don’t want my dad to smell my breath and ground me for a month. No playing poker with Lauren, because she will steal all your money. No playing strip poker with Lauren, because she will steal all your clothes. No playing strip anything, in fact."

"Not even if we're alone?" Blaine feels this is an important point to clarify. He’s not particularly looking forward to the evening, given how the last party went and how it's even more important now that he doesn't act like an idiot around Kurt's friends, and he wants to know what he can expect on the positive side of things besides the simple pleasure of hanging out with Kurt.

"We can revisit that rule if necessary. Now, remember, no talking with Puck about sex. Or dating. Or anything personal about either of us. Or pretty much anything. Let’s make that no talking with Puck.” Kurt points his finger at Blaine. “And no kissing anybody who isn’t me.”

“I don’t want to kiss anyone who isn’t you,” Blaine assures him.

“Good, then that one should be easy for you to follow.” Kurt flips down the visor and straightens his already impeccable hair in the mirror. “Now, what do you say should spin the bottle come up?”

“‘I will not be playing, because my boyfriend is both amazing and terrifying, and I would like to keep him’,” Blaine repeats for the fifteenth time tonight.

“And?”

“Um?” Blaine doesn’t remember there being any more.

“Let me remind you.” With that, Kurt grabs the front of Blaine’s shirt with one hand, yanks him into a precarious angle over the center console, and kisses him. There is no preamble of gentleness or timidity to warm them up; it starts directly as a dirty kiss full of tongue and teeth in just the right places, everything Kurt knows about what Blaine likes and a few surprises thrown in, too. Blaine's whole body ignites like Kurt put a match to him, and he fists his hands in Kurt’s hair and kisses back with everything he has.

Blaine is gasping for air when Kurt pulls away, and it takes a huge amount of willpower not to drag him back for more. It helps that he’s still in such shock from the kiss that he can’t quite get his body to work.

Back in his seat, Kurt frowns at himself in the visor mirror and tries to put his hair back into place from where Blaine has disturbed it. His hands, Blaine is happy to see, are trembling as they work. It would be a serious blow to his ego as well as to his heart if Kurt weren’t as turned on as he is.

“My boyfriend is definitely amazing,” Blaine tells him.

Kurt’s eyes light up, and he gently adjusts Blaine’s collar before tugging his own narrow scarf into place. “So is mine.”

“And I _really_ don’t want to kiss anyone else.”

“Good. Then I think we've covered everything.” Smiling, Kurt opens his door and slides out of the car.

The party is in many ways less fun for Blaine than what little he remembers of Rachel's. Since he's not drinking, he isn't riding a buzz that makes everything sparkly and awesome just by existing. Upon arrival, Kurt is immediately kidnapped by the girls, who tell Blaine he has to learn to survive New Directions on his own. Kurt shoots him an apologetic look as he is dragged off, but it still kind of sucks to be deprived of his boyfriend. The point was to go to a party with _Kurt_ , not just hang out in the same house as him.

Also, there isn't a stage and karaoke machine. So that's a huge downgrade from Rachel's party right there.

On the more fun side, soon after his arrival and abandonment Blaine gets pulled into a marathon game of Halo with Finn, Mike, and Sam that leads to Finn's and his decisive victory over the other team. If it may be partially because they're both sober and the other two are decidedly not by the end, it still counts. They will have bragging rights forever.

“That was awesome,” Finn says, grinning from ear to ear. "People are going to write songs about that game. People are going to write books about it. When people look up Halo on the Internet, they are going to find articles about that game!"

"Dude, I fragged you like a thousand times," Puck says and thwacks Finn’s knee with his controller.

“Including once when you were running into a wall and couldn’t turn around,” Sam adds.

"And we still won,” Finn crows. “It was legendary! Right, Blaine? Wasn't it legendary?"

"Legendary," Blaine agrees and is rocked forward in his seat by Finn pounding happily on his back. He can only imagine what kind of damage Finn could do if he were drinking.

"Finn, please don't bruise my boyfriend," Kurt says from next to the couch, and Blaine is _so_ happy to see him, and not just because Finn stops hitting him.

Tina lets go of Kurt's arm and slips into Mike's lap, her mouth on his before she’s even finished sitting. Kurt, being more demure or maybe just far less drunk, perches on the arm of the couch beside Blaine, crosses his legs, and rests his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. The tip of his little finger strokes the side of Blaine’s neck in a really nice but distracting way.

“Having fun?” Kurt asks. His cheeks are a little pink, and he looks happy.

Blaine smiles up at him and tries not to purr at Kurt’s touch. “I am apparently half of the best Halo team in the world, so yes.”

“In your dreams!” Puck says, though the tone is friendly enough. “Next time you’re going down, though I hear you gays really like that. I bet you’d be right at home.”

“Oh, god,” Kurt says in an undertone, turning bright red. “Here we go.”

“I think I should be sorry for the girls he’s dated if that's his attitude,” Blaine says to Kurt.

“Snap!” says Artie. He holds out his hand for a fist bump, which Blaine gives him.

Kurt looks at Blaine like he’s growing horns or something. “Did you just fist bump?”

“That’s not all he’s bumping.” When Puck goes for a fist bump, Artie leaves him hanging.

"You got to earn the fist," he says with a shake of his head.

“Leave Kurt and his boy toy alone, Puckerman,” Lauren calls from across the room where she’s shuffling a deck of cards with surprising finesse. Blaine begins to understand the point of Kurt’s warnings about them both.

“Give me something better to do,” Puck calls back.

She crooks her finger at him, beckoning him over. “Miss Zizes wants another drink. Get me one and we’ll talk. Or not talk. Three Long Island iced teas have something else on their minds.”

It takes Puck a second to catch up with the innuendo, then he springs up off the couch.

“I see what you mean about not talking to Puck,” Blaine says to Kurt.

“He could make reading the phonebook an exercise in being offensive.” Kurt takes a long drink from whatever he has in his red cup. Blaine frowns at it a little, wondering if he should remind Kurt of his one drink rule but deciding against it; Kurt’s nowhere near sloppy, and if he wants to unwind, Blaine’s driving anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

“It’s soda,” Kurt says, clearly having noticed Blaine’s gaze. He holds up the cup and jiggles it. Blaine hears the sound of ice. “Soda? Puck has it to mix drinks.”

“Oh.”

Kurt leans down and murmurs in his ear, “I’m following the rules. Are you?”

A shiver dances up Blaine’s spine. “Yes,” he says.

“Good, because as much as I’d like to give you another reminder of what you’re supposed to be doing it looks like we’re about to begin the singing and dancing portion of the evening.”

Given the intensity of Kurt’s hands-on demonstration in the car, Blaine would really like a repeat, but Kurt just sets his cup down and watches the proceedings.

Mercedes and Brittany are pushing the coffee table out of the way while Santana fiddles with the iPod attached to the stereo. The background music stops, only to be replaced a few seconds later by the pounding beat of Lady Gaga. Santana spins the volume knob and whoops as she grabs Brittany’s hand.

“Kurt! We can’t do this song without Kurt!” Quinn comes over and pulls a feebly protesting Kurt off of the couch and into the throng of girls.

“Start again!” Tina says, nearly falling off of Mike’s lap and joining them as they line up with Kurt in the middle.

The music skips, stops, and starts over, and Blaine finds himself treated to an enthusiastic if not entirely melodic version of “Bad Romance,” complete with monster claw hands and over-the-top poses. If Mercedes is laughing too hard during her parts to sing and Rachel’s runway walk is both endearingly earnest and kind of sloppy, the raw joy that they’re all expressing is mind-blowing. It’s nothing like the the synchronized perfection of the Warblers, not to mention that as far as Blaine can tell Kurt is performing pretty much as perfectly as he would in front of an audience, which would make him utterly mesmerizing to Blaine even if he weren’t already crazy about him.

The boys cheer wildly when the girls are done, and Kurt flashes Blaine an outwardly cool smile that is belied by the delight in his eyes as he takes another bow. Blaine claps even harder and reminds himself in no uncertain terms how Kurt feels about PDA so that he doesn’t give into the urge to drag him into his lap the way Mike does with Tina. Besides, he’s far from sure how the rest of New Directions would feel about it. Just because they like Kurt doesn't mean they're okay with everything he is and does.

“Our turn!” Finn says. He bounces up from the couch and offers Blaine a hand. “You coming?”

Blaine has no idea what they’ll be singing, and the New Directions choreography is more complicated and haphazard than what he’s used to, but he’s not one to turn down a chance to perform. "Sure!" He lets Finn pull him along.

"Here, I have the track on my iPod," Artie is saying to Puck, pulling the device out of his pocket and thumbing through it.

"Didn't Kurt sing this with us last year?" Finn asks.

"I wasn't here for it," Sam says with a shrug. “I should sit this one out.”

"Dudes, we are _dudes_ , so we are totally going to rock it," Puck tells them. "Sam, you follow me. Gargler, you take your boyfriend's part."

Blaine opens his mouth to explain that a) he and Kurt have different ranges and b) he has no idea what Kurt's part is... or even what song they'll be singing, but then the music starts, and he just tries to follow along with the mash-up. By the second time they get to "It's my life," he feels like he's on the right track, and by the end he's comfortable enough that he even dances out front with Mike, though if Mike's smile is any indication it's more of a pity dance. Kurt's smile, on the other hand, is huge and thrilled, tinged with adoration he rarely shows in public.

Kurt and the girls applaud and cheer when the song is over, and he finds himself being dragged to the opposite end of the line from Kurt as the guys all sing "Stop! In the Name of Love," which actually turns out to be another mash-up Blaine has to try to follow. It is sloppy at best for pretty much all of them, but it's so much fun that he's grinning from ear to ear when he flops down in a chair afterward. His stomach hurts from laughing so hard. He decides karaoke machines are overrated.

"Move over, boys," Santana says, shooing the rest of them out of the performance space. "Let me show you how it's done. Weezy, you going to bring it with me?"

Mercedes carefully gets up from the floor. “Oh, I’ll bring it.” Her show of attitude is ruined by the giggles immediately following.

Wondering if he should contribute a solo or if a duet with Kurt would be appropriate, Blaine looks around to find Kurt on the couch with Rachel beside him, holding his hand and talking to him in a very serious and intense way. Kurt catches Blaine's gaze and widens his eyes in a plea for help. Blaine lifts his eyebrows as if to indicate that he can’t do anything and then grins when Kurt fixes him with a deadly glare.

“ - love is very important, Kurt,” Rachel is saying as Blaine walks over. “You have to treasure it. Nurture it. Let it grow and bloom like a little flower.”

“Grow and bloom, got it,” Kurt says, trying to free his hand. She holds tight.

“Like a _flower_ ,” she repeats. “A delicate flower that should not be wasted on - “

“Hey, Kurt, would you help me get some more ice from the cooler?” Blaine asks. Somehow he manages to keep a straight face.

“Yes, yes, absolutely. If you’ll excuse me, Rachel, I simply must help with this important ice emergency.” Kurt yanks his hand out of her grasp and springs to his feet.

“A delicate, beautiful flower,” she says, turning to Tina, who is currently making out with Mike.

Blaine and Kurt escape to the kitchen, where the music is a little quieter and the room is blissfully empty of other people.

"So that sounded like a fun conversation,” Blaine says.

“Rachel should never be allowed to drink. Ever.” Kurt puts his hand down on the counter, flinches at whatever he touches, and goes to the sink to wash it.

“Hey, at least I heeded your cry for help.”

Kurt reaches for the dish towel and jerks back just before he makes contact. He uses a paper towel instead to dry his hands. “Thank you. You’re my knight in shining henley."

“Only a knight? I was thinking more like your Prince Charming.”

Blaine can see the influence of the alcohol in Kurt’s system through the free and easy way he laughs and fondly rolls his eyes. It’s not that Kurt doesn’t do those things with him, but he isn’t usually so open in public, even if the public is Puck’s sticky kitchen with his friends in the next room. It makes Blaine smile just as widely, because he loves it when Kurt is feeling comfortable.

“Why do I feel like someday you’re going to serenade me from atop a white charger?” Kurt asks.

That wasn’t actually on Blaine’s mental list of potential wooing situations, but it’s a good idea, so he adds it. “You love it when I serenade you,” he says, stepping forward to cross the distance between them. Kurt watches him with bright, happy eyes.

“I do.”

“I really want to kiss you,” Blaine says quietly, glancing back at the door. There’s nobody visible through it. “I always do. But then I watched you sing, and I wanted to even more.”

Not taking his eyes off of Blaine, Kurt says, “I think you should.”

Who is Blaine to argue? He curls his hand around the back of Kurt’s neck and brings their mouths together. He has to. He is _crazy_ about him, about his amazing voice and his big heart and his insane group of friends who always make Blaine feel welcome without really trying.

Kurt melts into him, tangling his fingers in Blaine’s hair and sighing into his mouth as he lets Blaine deepen the kiss.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you _all fucking night_ ,” Blaine murmurs, because it feels really important to say it. They’re surrounded by couples, and he’s feeling the same urges they are. He can’t always show his feelings the way he wants to, either because he doesn’t know how or because their surroundings don’t let him, and right now it’s kind of both, but he needs Kurt to know, anyway.

Kurt looks into his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Then why on earth are you talking?”

It’s a reasonable question, so he stops trying to express himself through words and uses his mouth in other, better ways. He’s just about to push Kurt back against the counter, sticky spots be damned, when he hears someone in the doorway.

“Hi,” Brittany says when they move enough apart that they can turn their heads toward her. "You don't have to stop. I don't mind."

“Hi, Brittany.” Blaine slides his arms around Kurt’s shoulders to keep him from pulling too far away. He’s not ready to let go yet.

“You’ve really gotten better at that,” Brittany says to Kurt, who buries his face against Blaine’s shoulder. “You know, making out.”

“Thank you,” Kurt replies, his voice sounding strangled. He's shaking, probably from suppressed laughter but possibly from hysteria.

“We should do it again.”

Blaine turns his laugh into a cough as Kurt raises his head and says, “I have a boyfriend.” He gestures to Blaine.

“That’s okay. He can watch.” Brittany smiles at Blaine. “You can watch.”

“Thank you,” he replies, because he was raised to be polite even in the strangest of situations.

“But right now I need a drink. Maybe later?” she asks Kurt.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well. Let me know.”

“Bye, Brittany.” Kurt puts his head back on Blaine’s shoulder when she leaves. “Oh, my god. That’s one way to kill a moment. That and opening my eyes to see this kitchen.”

“I get to watch!” Blaine says with as much enthusiasm as he can fake. “That’s awesome! I like watching you.”

Kurt smacks him on the shoulder. "I am never making out with you at a party again."

"Really?" Blaine asks, because never seems like a very big word, but Kurt is nothing if not a person who thinks big.

"Blaine," Kurt says in his patented you-are-an-idiot voice, and Blaine relaxes and steals another quick kiss.

They rejoin the party, and not long after they all end up dancing in the living room in a big writhing knot of bodies. The music is loud, and most of the kids are drunk enough that they’re more flailing and bumping into each other than doing anything close to proper dancing. The communal madness makes Finn look good, but it’s impossible for Blaine not to yell along with the lyrics and jump around with all of them. It's contagious.

The best part is that Kurt is along for the same ride. He is loose and happy between Blaine and Mercedes near the edge of the group. He shimmies and spins, taking Mercedes by the hand and dipping her before slinging his arms around Blaine’s neck and singing in his ear. Rachel beams at them when she spins by, and even Santana's raised eyebrow seems more perfunctory than mocking. Blaine’s chest feels like it’s full of bubbles, light and airy, ready to carry him away with joy.

He really hadn’t expected to have a good time tonight. He’d expected to make snarky comments with Kurt in the corner and be rewarded for his patience later by some spectacular kisses, but he’d assumed he’d be too focused on not making a fool of himself for Kurt’s sake that the party would be a obligation instead of a chance to unwind.

And yet that wasn’t what it turned out to be at all.

When Finn asks him at the end of the night if he had fun, Blaine can only smile over at Kurt bouncing to silent music on his arm and say, “Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine ignores the knock on his door.

He has been working for what feels like forever (actually just the entire weekend), because when he got back his draft of his term paper from his European History teacher on Thursday it turned out he had apparently overlooked some key points about the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathars, which meant instead of zipping through a fast final polish he’s had to do a bunch of new research and rewrite much of the paper from scratch to turn it in on Tuesday. While he’s grateful that he is able to fix his mistakes before he’s graded on them, he’s exhausted, hungry, frustrated with himself, and cranky from having spent the weekend stuck in the library or his room instead of out with friends or, more importantly, Kurt.

The knock comes again, more insistent. Blaine scowls at his closed, locked door. He put a sign up on the outside threatening vague but dire consequences if he is disturbed, and it was there three hours ago when he last left his room. Most of his hallmates have been respectful. The last thing he wants to do is have to be nice to someone else when he just wants to get through this weekend and on with his life.

Blaine stretches and checks his phone. Kurt hasn’t answered his last text ( _The floor’s coffee maker died. Wes says I’ve been abusing it. I took the rest of the pot and will have to ration it._ ), and it’s been well over two hours. Blaine tosses his phone back on the desk. Kurt’s supposed to have his own life, but Blaine is _suffering_. He’s buried by all of this work. A text doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

Three sharp raps sound on his door, and then the handle jiggles. Blaine shoots up from his chair, crosses the room, and throws the door open, ready to snap at whoever is there.

Kurt is on the other side. Kurt, who no longer goes to Dalton and who no longer appears at Blaine’s door on a whim. Who _can’t_ appear at Blaine’s door without someone signing him in, and yet there he is. Either that or Blaine has cracked, which is also possible.

“Kurt?” Blaine winces as Kurt’s eyes slide over him from head to toe, from his curly, unstyled, _unbrushed_ hair down his coffee-stained t-shirt and ratty flannel pajama bottoms to his bare feet. He is about as far as his usual, put-together self as he has ever been. It would be mortifying if he weren't so shocked.

“Hello,” Kurt says and sweeps into the room. He, of course, is dressed to perfection in a crisp white shirt, striped vest, dark jeans, and his white docs. He has a paper grocery bag in one hand and his book bag over his shoulder. “I have come to rescue you from your paper.”

“I wish it worked that way.”

“It does. Here.” Kurt sets down his burden on the floor and kneels, pulling things out of the grocery bag. “These are from Carole.” He hands Blaine a package of chewy store-bought chocolate chip cookies, the kind that almost always seems to be around the Hummel-Hudson house since Blaine since remarked that he likes them. “These are from Finn. I think you’re supposed to be honored; they’re from his private stash.” He shows Blaine three energy drinks before putting them in the mini-fridge. Then he stands back up. “And this is from me.”

He steps in front of Blaine, who is still dumbly holding the cookies, takes his face in his hands, and kisses him. He tastes like peppermints and something citrus and _Kurt_ , and after a second Blaine flings the cookies to the bed and gets his arms around his boyfriend to kiss him right back. Energy floods through him, not the jittery thrum of anxiety and caffeine that’s been powering him for days but the hot rush of actual pleasure. God, it feels _good_.

Kurt pulls away first, putting his hands on Blaine’s chest to keep him from hauling him back in. “I’m not here to distract you,” he says. “Just keep you company while you work. If you want.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Blaine says, because it really, really does. “I’m so tired of this paper I’m not even sure I’m writing actual sentences anymore. It would be great to be able to look up and see you instead of just my walls."

Nodding once, Kurt says briskly, “Okay, then you will write your paper for two and a half more hours, and I will find someplace in this room that isn’t covered with books so that I can do my own work. At five you’re going to go take a shower while I read your paper over for you, and then I am going to take you to dinner.”

“Kurt, I can’t,” Blaine says with real regret. He loves going out with Kurt, but he knows what his priorities have to be. “This paper is a third of my grade, and I _have_ to finish the first draft tonight so I can edit it tomorrow. I even got a pass out of dorm dinner tonight.”

“I know, and Wes got you a pass to go off campus with me, instead. It won’t be long. We’ll go to Subway or something, get you some food that isn’t caffeinated or entirely pre-processed, and help you clear your head. Then I’ll go home, and you can get back to work.” Kurt tilts his head and looks at him with concern. “You need a little break,” he says gently. “It’s okay. Let me help.”

Blaine takes a second to think about it and realizes Kurt’s right; it would help. _He_ can help. Blaine closes his eyes at the rush of gratitude that sweeps over him that he isn’t in this mess all alone. He still has this mountain of work looming over him, but he feels like he might be able to conquer it after all.

“You have the best plans,” he tells Kurt.

Kurt smiles and says, “Of course I do. Now move some of these books so I can sit down.”

*

The last two of the tea lights gutter and die out in the breeze, leaving them in close to darkness, and Kurt sighs. “In the magical land where magazine editors come up with their ideas for settings for perfect spring dates, they must have no weather whatsoever. I should have used hurricane lamps.”

He and Blaine are sitting on a blanket in the backyard of the Hummel-Hudson house, a blanket that was once edged with flickering candles but that is now only barely lit at all by the faint glow from nearby houses beyond the fence.

“We just finished our dinner,” Blaine says. “Think of it as dimming the lights.”

Dinner had been an assortment of Kurt’s newest recipes served _al fresco_ , from mushroom pate to creme brulee complete with a miniature blow torch brought forth to caramelize the tops before Blaine’s admiring eyes, and Blaine is full of good food and a sense of smug satisfaction that he’s one of the only guys he knows who would actually like all of the dishes Kurt made. It’s always warming for Blaine to have a moment where he feels like _he_ is a good match for _Kurt_ and not just the other way around. Because, really, when it comes down to it, Kurt is ridiculously amazing and fills gaps in Blaine’s heart he didn’t even know were there, and some days Blaine feels like just this guy who can sing well and dance a little and who has a knack for getting Kurt to smile.

But not tonight, especially not when Kurt _does_ smile at him and squeeze his hand. "Like mood lighting?"

"Exactly."

"Okay. We will call it mood lighting." Leaning back on his hands, Kurt tips his head back and looks up at the night sky. After a moment of admiring Kurt’s profile, Blaine follows suit. Light from the town washes out the inky darkness, but most of the stars are still visible above them.

“Finn asked me tonight if the stars were different in New York,” Kurt says. “Like we’re going to New Zealand or something.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth: that the stars are pretty much the same but you can’t really see them because of the bright city lights,” Kurt replies. “I left out the issue of the air pollution.”

Blaine nods; he would have, too. “It ruins the romance.”

Kurt turns his head and smiles at him again. “I agree,” he says with obvious satisfaction at his understanding. “Finn, of course, was horrified that he wouldn’t be able to see them. Maybe he navigates by the north star; it would explain his driving.”

“He wouldn’t need the north star in New York. There are street signs. And cabs.” They have both in Lima, of course, but it isn't the same at all.

“I know.” Kurt sighs happily, and his feet wiggle back and forth a little next to Blaine’s. “I can’t believe I’m going to be there in a few days.”

“You are, and you’re going to love it,” Blaine tells him. He is truly happy for Kurt, even if he’d like to be there with him, and not just because he would have liked to go to Nationals.

Kurt holds out his hand and curls it around Blaine’s fingers as soon as Blaine offers them in return. “Next time we’ll be together,” he says. He _promises_. Even though it isn’t phrased that way, Blaine knows it is a promise. Neither of them talks about the future lightly, and their dreams of New York are the most serious of all.

Something huge and right and at times pretty damn terrifying is growing in Blaine’s chest each day, swelling beneath his ribs and making it difficult to breathe when he thinks about Kurt. It makes his pulse skip and skitter when he sees him. It makes his hands feel empty when they’re not touching him. It makes him want to promise anything, _everything_.

It also makes him feel centered. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel like the world makes sense in a way it never has before, in a way he never could have imagined until he found himself here.

It’s overwhelming and wonderful all at once, and he doesn’t know what to do with it but _feel_ it.

So he gives into his heart and leans over and kisses Kurt, their fingers still laced together between them and his other hand slipping into Kurt’s hair because he really, really needs to feel more than just his cheek or the welcome warmth of his mouth. He kisses him deeply, tasting the lingering sweetness of custard on his tongue and opening his mouth wider to see if he can get to more of _Kurt_ beneath it. Kurt returns kiss for kiss, no hesitation in his response at all, though Blaine is pushing faster and harder than he usually does to start. He can’t help it. Kurt’s mouth always short circuits his brain in the best possible way. That Kurt wants this, him, _him_ , every single day, that he made all sorts of fancy food and set up a romantic picnic for _him_ in the midst of preparing for Nationals and everything else, makes the kiss almost more than Blaine can bear, and the choices are to stop or to push Kurt down onto the blanket and never, ever come up for air.

Blaine somehow manages to stop. He’s not sure it’s the right choice. It doesn’t feel like it when the only connection between their bodies is their hands again.

“What was that for?” Kurt asks with a soft, surprised laugh. It’s amazing to Blaine that Kurt can still be flustered by a kiss, but it’s also thrilling, because he’s the one who put the tremor he can feel in Kurt’s fingers and the little waver he can hear in Kurt’s voice.

“It was a thank you,” Blaine replies. It’s all he can say before the swelling in his chest closes off his throat again.

His eyes must be adjusting to the darkness, because he can see the warmth in the smile Kurt directs at him. “You’re welcome. Apart from the candle situation, tonight has gone rather well, if I may say so, myself.”

Blaine doesn’t just mean thank you for tonight, but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like he's either lost his mind or has some alien growing in his chest, so he simply lifts their hands to his mouth and kisses each of Kurt's fingers in turn. Then he gently unfurls Kurt's hand and covers his palm with soft, slow kisses. Kurt's breath turns shaky and speeds up a little; the sound makes Blaine’s heart pound, knowing it’s because of him. As gently as he can, he slips back Kurt's cuff and kisses along the heel of his hand to reach his inner wrist. He lingers there, his breath fanning Kurt's skin and his mouth moving ever so lightly over Kurt's pulse point. He can feel the pounding of Kurt's heartbeat through his skin; the rhythm is the perfect counterpoint to the thrum of his own.

"Blaine," Kurt says, his voice uncharacteristically weak. Blaine can't help but feel proud that he's able to elicit that kind of reaction from just simple kisses. He wants it from Kurt. He craves it. He lives for the moments when Kurt is focused on nothing but him.

Still holding Kurt's wrist, Blaine sits up and turns so that he is facing Kurt where he leans propped up on one elbow. “I am so crazy about you,” he tells Kurt and gets a delighted smile in return that turns into a gasp when Blaine kisses his wrist again. Blaine takes a second to admire the long, lean line of him in his jeans and dress shirt and then lets go of Kurt's hand to bend over him and find his mouth again.

“Oh,” Kurt says, sliding his hands up Blaine’s back to cradle his shoulders and pull him closer. His arms are strong, and Blaine has no reason at all to fight him, so he readjusts his balance and lets Kurt bring him in chest to chest. Blaine needs one hand to keep himself propped up beside and over Kurt, so he can’t touch him the way he wants, but he still feels a thrill from the movement of Kurt’s jaw beneath his thumb as their mouths work together. He traces the arc of bone there and lingers over the shifting tendons, amazed that such a tiny thing can make him feel like he’s going to fly apart from how much he wants it.

He feels Kurt tugging at his t-shirt, and then his hands skim up Blaine’s back, cool on his skin. The world spins for a second, and he can feel Kurt’s mouth curve into a smile on his when Blaine gasps and loses his place in the kiss.

“Did that distract you?” Kurt asks.

Blaine laughs, only a little self-conscious, because he’s supposed to be in control of himself, except that that isn’t what feels right at all when he’s with Kurt. “You always distract me.”

Kurt laughs, too, and presses his fingers into the muscles of Blaine’s back as he slides them down from shoulder to waist. His eyes flutter closed on the next upward movement, and Blaine watches with amazement as Kurt bites his lip and makes a little breathy sound just from touching him. “I know the feeling,” Kurt says.

Nuzzling at Kurt’s jaw, Blaine trails his fingers down Kurt’s throat and along the inside of his collar. He flicks open the first button there, sure by now of his welcome, and caresses the warm skin beneath with his fingertips before sliding his palm flat over Kurt’s firm chest over his shirt. Kurt sucks in a sharp breath against Blaine’s temple, and his fingers dig a little more into Blaine’s back. He moves his mouth to just beneath Blaine’s ear, a quick press of the lips turning into a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

“I am crazy about you, too,” Kurt murmurs in the low voice Blaine now knows means Kurt is having trouble keeping himself together because he feels so good. “So. Very. Ridiculously. Impossibly. Insanely. Crazy.” He punctuates each word with another kiss.

“Kurt.” It’s all Blaine can say, and he lets Kurt pull him down as he falls back onto the blanket with Blaine over him.

Blaine wants. He just _wants_ Kurt. Not only in the physical sense, though every bit of him wants that, too, but he wants everything Kurt is, who he is, what he is to Blaine. He wants Kurt’s strength, his fire, his wit, his creativity, his heart. He wants it all, not to keep in a box but to hold onto and follow as Kurt does whatever it is he does. Blaine wants to be the thing that lets Kurt be Kurt. And he wants Kurt to want him there, too. He wants Kurt to hold onto him just as tightly, and Blaine doesn’t know if that’ll ever be true, and he’ll never stop Kurt from being himself even if it means leaving Blaine behind, but he wants it all the same. He wants every part of Kurt. Everything. He won’t demand it, but he wants it. And maybe it’s not right to be so greedy, and maybe he’s actually one of those boyfriends who suffocates his partner with his neediness, but it’s how he feels. He can’t help it.

So he goes eagerly when Kurt pulls him down, and he seeks out every little noise Kurt makes as they rock together gently while they kiss. He can feel Kurt hard where he’s pushing back against his thigh, and he wants so badly to touch him, to feel that weight in his hand, but this isn’t the place. This isn’t the time or place, he reminds himself over and over again, and as much as he loves kissing Kurt he hates that they can’t do more if they want to.

After a while, a light goes on in the house, not close enough to shine on the blanket but still a reminder of the time that has passed.

“My dad. Carole,” Kurt gasps desperately against Blaine’s cheek even as he brings his leg up to curl around Blaine’s and tightens his grip on Blaine’s back.

“I know, I know. We have to stop. I know.”

“Fuck,” Kurt says, kissing him hard enough that Blaine’s lip feels like it might split from the pressure, and then Kurt turns his face away and lets go all at once, his hands falling to the blanket like a marionette with its strings cut.

It takes Blaine a second to understand what’s happened, and he feels a hot rush of frustration that he has to pull away, that _he_ has to be strong, that he has to be the one to move, even though obviously Kurt can’t go anywhere the way he’s pinned by Blaine’s body. Kurt is tight-jawed and trembling beneath him, and it’s enough to break Blaine’s paralysis. He moves to his side next to Kurt, trying to soothe him with a hand on his chest and a kiss to his hairline.

Kurt clasps Blaine’s hand tightly and opens his eyes to look at him. His expression is happy and sad all at once, mirroring what lies in Blaine’s heart. They don’t say anything for a few minutes as their breathing returns to normal and the hunger in their bodies retreats to a more manageable level.

Finally Kurt leans in to press a very soft kiss on Blaine’s mouth before sitting up. He starts to button up the front of his shirt, which is open further than Blaine remembers doing, but he must have gotten carried away. It isn’t always easy to focus on his actions when he’s so wrapped up in enjoying Kurt.

“Let me,” Blaine says. It’s marginally less painful to be the one putting the skin he wants to touch back behind clothing. It’s also strangely intimate, something you don’t let just anyone do, especially not if you’re Kurt Hummel and feel as protective of your clothes as a father might of his children, and Blaine lets himself relish that joy, as well.

“I begin to see why teenagers rush off to get married in historical novels,” Kurt says tightly, watching Blaine work. “Because if this is the life of the liberated modern teenager imagine how people in Jane Austen’s time felt. And they had corsets and waistcoats to get in the way.”

Just like that Blaine is laughing and reaching out to take Kurt’s hand to kiss it again, not to start anything but because he wants to and he can. There’s nothing to stop him, not here. “You wear waistcoats.”

“Yes, but they’re not _mandatory_ ,” Kurt says, his fingers lingering on Blaine’s lips for a moment. “I’ve learned about the benefits of less complicated clothing in certain circumstances.”

Blaine kisses Kurt’s hand again as another light goes on in the house.

“The magical land of magazine editors also doesn’t have parents with pointed porch lights,” Kurt muses as he begins to stack the tea lights carefully.

“I still like this land better, despite weather and parents,” Blaine says.

“Oh?”

“You’re in it.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but the smile playing at the edge of his mouth doesn’t ever quite disappear for the rest of the night.

*

“And then I was thinking this hat with this jacket.” Kurt holds them up in front of himself so that Blaine can see the items in question over Skype. “Or maybe this one, but I think the feathers take the outfit from fabulous to the wrong side of head-turning. I want to be New York enough for New York, not Ohio pretending to be New York.” Kurt holds up a different hat, though he doesn’t put it on. His hair is damp from his shower and unstyled, flopping over his forehead in a way that makes Blaine itch to push it back. He pretty much never gets to see Kurt this way, his boyfriend being the person who wouldn’t see Blaine for four days when he got sick with a spring cold and didn’t have the energy to deal with his hair or what he termed ‘unfortunate nose redness’. So Blaine knows it’s an honor to see Kurt this way; Kurt genuinely gets pleasure from looking his best, but it’s also an armor, and he is slowly letting it slip - every once in a while - with Blaine.

It makes Blaine feel kind of giddy.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Kurt asks. “Is it the hat? It is that awful? Are they _both_ awful?” He looks down at the hat in his hand with growing dismay.

“No. No. You should definitely go with the first one, I agree, but they aren’t awful.”

“Okay... Then what is going on?” Kurt carefully lays down his clothes on the bed and sits in his chair, readjusting the camera so that he is framed properly on the screen.

“Nothing. Really.” Kurt raises an eyebrow, and Blaine says, “I like watching you work. You’re in your element.”

Kurt’s face breaks into a wide smile, and he ducks his head like he’s embarrassed by his reaction.

“No, it’s great,” Blaine insists. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come over so I could see it in person.”

“I’d be more than happy to enlist your help in hanging everything back up before I leave tomorrow. I may be up all night.”

“I’ll help you unpack instead, okay?”

“Okay.” Kurt tugs a little on the string hanging down from the hood of his slate grey -

“Wait a minute,” Blaine says, sitting up abruptly in his own chair. “What are you wearing?”

Kurt glances down and quickly crosses his arms over his chest. “Nothing. I mean, nothing special. Obviously I am wearing something, and, no, I am not going to have Skype-sex with you.”

Blaine lets that go, partly out of self-preservation because, wow, he doesn’t need to think about that right now, but mostly because Kurt doesn’t babble so much unless he’s flustered and trying to hide something. He leans in closer to the screen. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Uh - “

“It is! You’re wearing my hoodie!”

Kurt draws his shoulders back and says with haughty condescension that rolls right off of Blaine, “The rest of my clothes are still under consideration for going to New York.”

“You’re wearing _my_ hoodie. The one I loaned you last week in that rain storm. The one you called ‘disreputable at best’ and a sign of my ‘disastrous mall taste’ when it comes to clothing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt says, “I stand by my judgments.”

“But you’re still wearing it.”

“I told you; my - “

“Your clothes are all standing by in case they’re lucky enough to be packed,” Blaine finishes. “Except I don’t believe that, because I know for a fact just how big your closet is and how many suitcases it would take to carry it all. And I know you have tons of clothes from last season you won’t even consider wearing in New York.”

“The operative words there being _last season_. They are last season _everywhere_ , you know. Even Lima.”

“One, you wear them all the time around here. And two, even if you didn’t they still aren’t a disreputable hoodie from the mall.”

Kurt’s eyes shift around the room, like he’s caught and looking for a way out, before focusing back on the screen. He flicks his hair back from his face. “And?”

Blaine props his chin up on his hand and smiles at him. “You’re wearing my hoodie because you _like_ wearing my hoodie.”

“I - “ Kurt opens and closes his mouth.

“Kurt, I like it, too,” Blaine tells him gently, letting him off the hook.

“You like it.”

“I do. Not just because you’re wearing my clothes but because you’re wearing my clothes over _yours_ right now.” Like maybe, just maybe he’d needed a little comfort to calm his nerves about New York and Nationals, and he’d turned to Blaine’s hoodie for it.

Kurt smooths down one of the sleeves and worries the cuff for a minute before looking back at the screen and admitting, “Me, too.” He smiles a little. “Only at very special and private times, of course.”

“Of course,” Blaine says, and he wishes he were there to feel Kurt’s body beneath the worn cotton and to brush that still-damp hair off of his forehead and breathe in the smell of it without the overlay of product and perfection. He wishes he were there to calm those nerves for Kurt.

He really, really hates that he isn’t.

Still, Kurt’s kind of getting a hug from him right now, anyway, and he _wanted_ it. That’s pretty good, too.

*

Blaine has never been the kind of guy who puts up lots of pictures around his room. Partially it’s because it feels weird to expose his favorite memories to the rest of the world that way, but it’s mostly because he doesn’t need visual cues to remember them, because if he did they wouldn’t be that important. He has tons of pictures of his friends (and lots more of just Kurt, which he cycles on his phone lock screen and background) on his phone and his computer, but in his room the only picture he had displayed until recently was a framed one on his desk of his parents.

Now Blaine also has a picture slipped into the frame of his mirror. It’s of Kurt, of course. Well, it’s of the two of them, from the night of the prom. Blaine knows Kurt prefers the formal one of them posing in the Hummels’ front hall or even the official one from the end of the night; Kurt has both out in his room.

Blaine has those pictures on his computer, but that’s not what’s on his mirror. Instead he has a candid shot, an accidental one, really, from Finn’s camera. It’s of the two of them standing out of the way in the living room, Kurt pinning on Blaine’s boutonniere. Blaine is watching Kurt’s face with a wide-eyed intensity that he almost feels he should be embarrassed about. Kurt is focused on the flower in his hands, but he’s smiling quietly but with such fierce joy that it makes Blaine’s heart clench every time he looks at it. Both of them are in profile, and they’re partially in shadow, but they look so _happy_. Blaine loves that, loves that moment together, loves that it was real and theirs, and that ultimately _that’s_ what they can take away from that night: each other.

As always, when Blaine pulls his tie snug beneath his collar and checks in the mirror to be sure it looks all right before he goes to class today, the picture catches his eye. He smiles a little to himself and takes a second to admire how fantastic Kurt looks in his outfit. Whatever Blaine’s reservations might have been about it, Kurt always looks good.

Blaine thinks about Kurt in New York now and smiles a little more. He’s gotten a few texts here and there, enough to know that he’s going to hear quite a story when they get back. His chest feels tight as he thinks about Kurt getting to explore the city they both want to call home, but it isn’t a bad tightness. He’s happy for him. Happy that he gets to have these experiences, and happy that he’ll come home to Blaine so they can go off to New York together in the future.

If Blaine is honest with himself, New York isn’t the dream for him that it is for Kurt. He has no problem moving there, and he knows he’ll love it, but it isn’t New York in this future scenario that is the draw. It’s New York with _Kurt_. Without Kurt, Blaine could end up in California or Chicago just as easily, but Kurt wants New York, and Blaine wants him. It’s like how Kurt wanted to go to _prom_ with Blaine, Blaine wanted to go to prom with _Kurt_. It’s not that Kurt doesn’t want _him_ , too, he knows that, it’s just that Kurt wants to follow whatever plans are on his mind _with_ him, and Blaine wants _him_.

Blaine just wants him.

He freezes and can’t manage to draw in a breath. Oh. _Oh_.

 _That’s what this feeling is_ , he thinks, dazed. _Wow. Love. Okay. That makes sense._

His world shifts a few degrees to the left. He looks around, inhales shakily, glances at his face in the mirror, thinks a little, and realizes nothing is actually different. Love. He’s in love with Kurt. It’s huge, it’s important, but what does that really change? Nothing. It doesn’t change a thing, because he probably always has been.

*

There are a lot of benefits to being the stable teenage relationship in the family, not the least of which is that Blaine and Kurt _are_ stable, which is pretty awesome, especially when Blaine looks around at their friends and their revolving door dating lives. He doesn’t really understand them except to think that they must not feel what Blaine does for Kurt, because he can’t imagine letting him go or wanting anyone else. Still, when Finn’s girlfriend (currently Rachel again, and at one point Blaine made Kurt flow-chart the whole story for him so he could keep up) cries at and/or tries to control him on a daily basis even in the best of times, not to mention the whole history of Quinn’s pregnancy and Rachel’s superstar diva status, it makes Kurt and Blaine with their outings to the theatre and favorite table at the Lima Bean look almost boring in comparison.

Blaine doesn’t mind at all, though he knows they are anything but boring, because it means that early in the summer when he shows up at the house at eight-thirty on a Monday morning on his day off from the theme park to help Kurt organize the Hummel-Hudson garage, Burt swallows down the last of his coffee and, after a long look at the two of them in their work clothes, just shrugs and tells them he’ll be home for lunch.

“Want me to pick up sandwiches from the pizza place on the way?” Burt asks. “I’m sure you kids will be hungry and’ll want something substantial.”

“We’ll be cooking,” Kurt says. He smiles at Blaine and hands him a mug of coffee. “Spinach salads with Gorgonzola and grilled chicken. You could bring home some bread if you’d like. A crusty sourdough boule would be perfect.”

Blaine ducks his head so he doesn’t laugh at the expression of resigned disappointment that crosses Kurt’s father’s face.

“Okay,” Burt says. “Remember to sweep before you put up those shelves and after you’re done.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, and Burt chuckles and says, “Right, forgot who I was talking to.”

“Have a good morning, Dad.”

When Burt leaves, Kurt turns to Blaine with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t think I said good morning to you properly,” he says and cups Blaine’s face in his hands to give him a soft but lingering kiss. The taste of his toothpaste clashes with the coffee Blaine just drank, but he really doesn’t care. He just slides his hands up Kurt’s back and enjoys there only being a single layer of t-shirt between his hands and Kurt’s shoulder blades.

“Good morning,” Blaine murmurs against Kurt’s lips, which curve into a smile in response. “You look nice.”

Kurt snorts. “I’m wearing a t-shirt and a pair of old shorts.”

“Exactly.” Blaine skims his hands up and down the thin material. “You feel nice, too.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were criticizing my usual fashion sense,” Kurt says, leaning into him. He kisses the side of Blaine’s throat above his own faded t-shirt.

Closing his eyes with the simple pleasure of it, Blaine says, “Not for a minute. But I can like this, too.”

“Well, don’t like it too much, because it’s about to get dirty.”

“Even better.”

Kurt swats at his arm and pulls away. “Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“What?” Blaine asks, leaning against the counter. “I can’t have fantasies?”

Eyes wide with something akin to disbelief or maybe even horror, Kurt takes another step back and asks, “You have fantasies about me being _dirty_?”

Blaine laughs, because he really can’t keep up the game when he has this whole long day with Kurt ahead of him and wants to bounce with the joy of it. Summer is different from the school year, but they’re both busy. Having a day together, no matter what they’re supposed to be doing, is going to be incredible.

“You should see your face,” he says to Kurt, grinning.

Kurt draws himself up to his full height and somehow manages to look regal in his Dalton gym t-shirt and a pair of loose cargo shorts; Blaine’s not sure how Kurt even owns the shorts. “Look, my boyfriend has just admitted to having perverse fantasies about me. I think I’m allowed to express my shock.”

“Perverse fantasies? _Perverse_? Really?”

“Wanting to see couture in anything less than a pristine state is perverse,” Kurt tells him. “It goes against the laws of fashion. It goes against the laws of _nature_.”

Blaine takes a sip of coffee, because it’s either that or laugh again, and he’s pretty sure Kurt will kick him out of the house if he does. “One, you’re not wearing couture,” he says when he has himself back under control. “And two, it’s not so much about you being dirty as disheveled.”

Kurt’s hand flutters up to touch his hair, which is casual but perfect as always. “Disheveled isn’t much better, Blaine.”

“It depends on how you get that way.”

It takes a second, but then Kurt’s mouth quirks into a grin, and he rolls his eyes at Blaine. “We have work to do,” he says.

Blaine raises his hands, all innocence. “Hey, you’re the one who brought up being dirty.”

“Come on.” Kurt gestures for Blaine to follow and leads him toward the garage. As they pause in the doorway, he whispers, “Perverse,” in Blaine’s ear in such a low purr that goosebumps rise on Blaine’s arms.

Oh, yes, this is going to be a fun day.

There is an oppressive humidity that warns that the afternoon will be a scorcher, but when Kurt opens the garage doors the fresh air is still cool enough to be welcome. Blaine doesn’t know what Kurt has in mind, but his own plan is for them to be finished with their work and be back in the air conditioning long before the weather saps them of their will to live. Or maybe that would just be him; Kurt never seems fazed by anything when he has a goal he’s trying to reach. He could probably run a competitive marathon at high altitude with no training if there were an internship at _Vogue_ waiting at the end of it. And he’d still cross the finish line looking fantastic.

Kurt claps his hands together and surveys the garage. “Sweep and organize first, then build,” he says.

“Why don’t I sweep?” Blaine suggests. “If I organize anything you’ll just come through and redo it.”

Kurt narrows his eyes and looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment he shrugs. “You’re probably right.” He fiddles with the iPod on its dock on the workbench and adjusts the volume so that the music is firmly in the background. “There we are. I made a playlist with a little for you and a little for me.”

Blaine recognizes the song as something Kurt’s had on in the car before, so he assumes it is from Kurt’s half of the playlist. He grabs the big push broom and starts on the floor while Kurt, humming to himself, arranges the boxes of the white metal shelving unit by the wall.

It doesn’t take long to sweep the garage, and Kurt’s nearly finished opening the boxes when Blaine rests the broom on the wall.

“I’m going with a symmetrical design,” Kurt says. “Five shelves up, three bays across, and hooks on both sides.” He gestures as he talks, mapping out his plan on the wall.

Blaine smiles to himself, fond of how Kurt attacks every task like a general storming an enemy hill, and nods.

“Okay, to start we need to find a stud,” Kurt says, walking over to get the stud finder from the work bench.

“I can do that.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“I can!” Blaine insists. He’s seen people use them on TV home improvement shows. How hard can it be?

Kurt holds out the stud finder but does not release it when Blaine reaches for it. “I swear on everything Gaga, Blaine Anderson, that if you point this at yourself and say ‘found one’ or anything like it I will break up with you here and now.” There is a seriousness in his eyes that makes Blaine believe every word.

“I won’t,” Blaine promises. Kurt studies his face for a moment and then releases the tool. Blaine immediately points it at Kurt and says, “Found one!” He smiles his most charming smile and dances backwards before Kurt can snatch the stud finder back.

“You - I - “

“I didn’t point it at _myself_.”

Kurt throws up his hands and says, “I officially give up.”

They work together pretty well, at least once Kurt shows Blaine how to use the stud finder, and if the growl of power tools and the lingering smell of motor oil reminds Blaine of the summer his dad tried to make him less gay via traditionally masculine manual labor, the way Blaine’s heart thunders when Kurt stretches up to drill in the top screw of the supports and shows off not only his greater height and the strength in his long arms but also a few inches of his side and stomach beneath the hem of his shirt proves that his dad’s lessons really, really didn’t take.

Sometime later, when they are working on getting the last support level, Finn wanders out into the garage with a glass of orange juice in his hand. He looks at the wall, at the way the two of them are entwined in a small space in the corner to have enough hands on the support, the level, and the drill at the same time, and back again. “Cool,” he says, apparently about the work they’ve done. “Need help? I’ve got a half hour ‘til I leave for work.”

“You know you’re not allowed near the power tools without my dad here,” Kurt replies, his voice muffled by the screw he’s holding between his lips. He checks the level. “Right there.” Blaine holds the support in place while Kurt uses the screw to secure it to the wall.

“It was only one time,” Finn says.

“You set the belt sander on fire.”

Blaine turns his face into his shoulder so he doesn’t hurt Finn’s feelings with his grin.

“Just once!”

“No, Finn.” Kurt sinks in a second screw and lets out a breath. He moves his arms so Blaine can slip out from in front of him now that the support won’t go anywhere. He shoots Blaine a little smile, though, and nudges his elbow as he moves away. Blaine smiles back. Even if it was for the job, it was nice to be close.

While Blaine hands Kurt the remaining screws one by one, Finn wanders over to the workbench.

“Oh, hey, a stud finder.” Finn puts it on his chest and says, “Beep! Found a stud!”

Kurt shoots Blaine a meaningful look.

Blaine just smiles and gestures back to _him_.

“Put it down, Finn,” Kurt says with a sigh Blaine is pretty sure is directed at them both.

“Oh, come on. That was funny,” Finn says.

“Belt. Sander.”

Finn puts the stud finder back on the bench and backs away. “Okay, okay. Jeez, dude, I get it.”

Kurt gives Blaine the drill to put in the last two screws and turns to Finn. “It isn’t my rule, Finn,” he says a little more kindly. He once described Finn to Blaine as acting like a big puppy that doesn’t quite know where its paws are, and occasionally Blaine sees Kurt give him a little extra gentle attention when Finn is having trouble figuring out dance moves or, apparently, power tools. He assumes it is because of the puppy dog thing and some brotherly affection and not any lingering attraction.

He can’t worry about that. After all, he knows Kurt loves him. Kurt _loves_ him, and Blaine’s momentarily distracted by that thought and almost puts the screw directly into the wall and not through the support. He tries to focus back on the task at hand. If he messes up, Kurt won’t let him use the tools, either, and power tools are as fun as Kurt being disappointed in him is not.

“You can help with the shelves,” Kurt is saying to Finn. “Your height makes you perfect for the job.”

Finn beams at him. “Cool!”

Adding Finn to the mix makes things a bit more complicated, since Finn seems genetically programmed to move the wrong direction with every piece of shelving he is given, but Blaine has to admit that Finn’s height is a huge help to them. They get all of the highest shelves and hooks in place by the time Finn has to leave, and it’s quick if strenuous work after that to fit together the rest of the pieces.

When they are finished, they step back and take a look at their work. There’s a complicated shelving unit on the wall that wasn’t there a few hours earlier, and it doesn’t seem to be tipping over, so Blaine is happy. The pride in his chest and the Pink song playing make him bounce on his toes as he glances over at Kurt.

“Why is there a piece left over?” Kurt asks, turning the shelf-supporting hook in his hand. His hair has fallen onto his forehead in the heat, but he doesn’t seem to care or even have noticed. It makes Blaine smile that much more.

“There’s always an extra something. Or something missing. I think it’s required.”

Kurt hums his agreement. “Still, it makes me nervous. What if it falls and hits someone? What if it falls on the _cars_?”

Blaine walks over to the wall, jumps up, and grabs the wide top shelf. He swings back and forth; nothing moves besides him. “Looks good to me,” he says over his shoulder.

Kurt is gaping at him. “What are you doing?”

“Testing it?”

“Do you have heat stroke? Should I get ice for you?”

Blaine lets go, a little hurt. “It’s fine, Kurt. See? Besides, it says it can hold five hundred pounds.”

“That’s not the point. Seriously, you have to stop climbing on things.”

“Or you have to stop worrying so much about it."

Kurt seems surprised when Blaine keeps looking calmly back at him. “Fine,” he says finally, “but give me some warning next time. Heart conditions run in my family, and I’d prefer not to help mine along.”

Blaine comes over then and slips his arm around Kurt’s waist as they face the shelves. They’ve both been sweating, and it’s warmer than is pleasant, but Blaine tugs him close, hip to hip, anyway. “There’s nothing wrong with your heart.”

Kurt gives him a smile that is colored with fondness and the conviction that Blaine is certifiable. He pushes his hair back and says, “Come on, let’s get something to drink.”

Water tastes like heaven after the heat and dust of the garage, and Blaine drains almost the entire glass before taking a breath. He takes the hand that’s wet with condensation and runs it through his hair to try to get a little more evaporation going in the air conditioning, and when he opens his eyes again he sees Kurt staring at him, his water nearly untouched, and his mouth open. “What?” Blaine asks.

Kurt closes his mouth with a snap. He looks away and drinks some water, his ears turning red.

“What?” Blaine asks again, narrowing his eyes. “Kurt?”

“I may occasionally find you extremely attractive,” Kurt says, and he starts to grin when Blaine laughs.

“Only occasionally?”

"Well," Kurt says, and his grin continues to grow despite his obvious efforts to restrain it, "that could be an understatement."

Something in Blaine’s chest fizzes and expands like a shaken soda bottle being opened, and now that he knows what he’s feeling is _love_ it isn’t scary or overwhelming anymore; it’s _awesome_. He glances over his shoulder toward the living room out of habit, but then he remembers he doesn’t have to worry about Mr. Hummel or Finn. He and Kurt are alone in the house.

He walks over, takes Kurt’s glass from his hand, and sets it on the counter beside him.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asks, slightly wary.

“Kissing you.” Blaine steps up against him, chest to chest, their bare legs brushing against each other in one of the new luxuries the summer has brought them. He rubs his nose against Kurt’s cheek and into his hair, breathing in the salty scent of sweat there. It makes Blaine’s blood rush through his veins because it smells like _Kurt_.

“That’s not kissing me,” Kurt murmurs, his hands settling on Blaine’s biceps. His thumbs rest on Blaine’s skin below his sleeves, and the little circles they draw make the hair on Blaine’s arms stand on end.

Still, Blaine doesn’t move away from Kurt’s hair. He inhales again, closing his eyes and enjoying the smell of Kurt and the way Kurt’s chest is hard against his as he breathes. “I’m getting there.”

“Get there faster.” Kurt’s fingers dig in a little, and he presses his cheek against Blaine’s.

“What’s your rush?”

“I don’t know, Blaine. Maybe I want to be kissed?”

“Only maybe?”

Kurt pushes him away, not hard but decisively enough that Blaine takes a step back. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind.”

Blaine can see the sparkle in Kurt’s eyes, so instead of giving him his space he snags Kurt’s waist and pulls him back in, pinning him against Blaine’s body with a hand at the small of his back. Kurt jumps in surprise, but he doesn't struggle. “Have you really?” Blaine asks against the corner of Kurt’s mouth.

“Of course not,” Kurt says softly, and this time Blaine stops teasing and moves the half inch required to kiss him.

Kissing Kurt is always amazing, Blaine has come to find over the months of their relationship, and if he were the kind of guy to categorize things he’d probably have a list of all of the different kinds of kisses they share and what they do to him. But he’d rather _feel_ the kisses than think about them, so he just dives in instead and replays them with abandon later on when he’s alone.

So since kissing Kurt is always great - from soft, affectionate pecks to the last minutes of desperate making out before curfew and everything in between - Blaine likes this kiss, too. It starts out lush and quiet but quickly intensifies, and there’s an undertone for Blaine of the contrasting combination of urgency and of having all of the time in the world. Like, he knows he can take his time while kissing Kurt because nobody is home to interrupt them... but he wants to kiss Kurt _nowrightnow_ as much as he can because _nobody is going to interrupt them_. He’s pulled in two directions, frantic about being able not to rush. He feels a bit like he’s going insane, but in the best possible way.

Kurt keeps him close, slipping his fingers up under Blaine’s sleeves to curl around his arms just below his shoulders. His hands are warm, and his grip is tight; it keeps Blaine grounded to him instead of feeling like he’s going to fly apart entirely. When Kurt drags his teeth over Blaine’s lower lip and makes Blaine shudder from head to toe, he says, “Now, isn’t this better than not kissing me?”

“Yes,” is the only possible reply, and he mumbles it against Kurt’s jaw, moving down the long line of his throat. Kurt tastes _incredible_ , and Blaine struggles not to suck the sweat off of his skin with such force that he leaves marks, because he got in enough trouble for that when it was scarf season.

“Are you licking my neck?” Kurt asks breathlessly as he tips his head back and slides one hand up into Blaine’s hair.

“No?”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Kissing your neck,” Blaine says, pressing yet another open-mouthed kiss to Kurt’s throat.

“With tongue.”

“Yes,” Blaine admits and does it again.

“It feels really good,” Kurt says, shivering and sinking his fingers deeper into Blaine’s hair.

Blaine feels the buzz of pleasure travel from his scalp down his spine to pool low in his belly. “It tastes good, too. You taste good.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“Exactly.”

Kurt huffs out a laugh. “You’re crazy.”

“For you.” He moves aside the collar of Kurt’s t-shirt to kiss the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“ _Blaine_.” His name is an expression of fond exasperation and a plea for more all at once.

“Shh. Busy.” Blaine nudges his thigh between Kurt’s, settles them against the counter, and just keeps kissing. The pressure against his erection feels _incredible_ , but it’s not so much that it takes over everything. He doesn’t want it to. He wants to enjoy _Kurt_ , right there happy and responsive in his arms.

By the time Blaine gets his hand under Kurt’s shirt and up his warm, smooth side, Kurt’s every exhalation has turned into a breathy moan that goes straight to Blaine’s gut. Kurt pulls him closer, his hands restless on Blaine’s back and arms, and finally he mutters something unintelligible under his breath and spins them around so that Blaine’s the one pressed against the cabinets.

Kurt uses his weight and height to pin Blaine in place, pushing up Blaine’s shirt with eager hands and dragging it over his head. Blaine gets a glimpse of Kurt’s burning eyes before Kurt’s mouth is back on his and his hands are everywhere on Blaine’s skin, hot against the chill of the air conditioning around them.

It feels amazing. _Kurt_ feels amazing, warm and strong as he pushes against Blaine, getting their hips to align in just the right way. A low, needy moan is ripped out of Blaine before he even knows it is coming. If Blaine had had any reason to question his sexuality yet again, the primal surge of lust that he feels at the obvious _maleness_ of Kurt would quash it in a second. He _loves_ that Kurt is just that much taller than he is, that he’s lean and hard (and _hard_ ), all long lines and flat planes of muscle. Women are beautiful, Blaine knows that, but Kurt _turns him on_. Oh, fuck, so much.

Kurt leans down to mouth along Blaine’s bare shoulder, and he makes this incredible sound that’s a combination of a laugh and a groan. “You _do_ taste good,” he says, the tip of his tongue tracing the most amazing pattern on Blaine’s skin. He sounds surprised but delighted. “Sweat should not be this much of a turn-on.”

Blaine laughs and rubs his cheek against Kurt’s hair while his hands clutch at Kurt’s waist to press their bodies closer together to alleviate the ache of desire in his belly. It doesn’t help at all, in fact it makes it worse, but it still feels perfect.

He’s always been a physical person, from jumping on furniture as a kid (which, okay, he hasn’t outgrown) to loving youth soccer to dancing around while he performs, but he had no idea what his body was capable of, how it could _move_ , until now with Kurt. He had no idea what it felt like to be in sync with someone else this way, to rock up with his hips in just the right rhythm to make Kurt moan brokenly against his skin, to have Kurt’s tongue slide against his own in time with the rest of their bodies and make his heart pound so hard it feels like it’s going to burst. He had no idea he could arch his back and feel Kurt automatically sway in place to keep their bodies balanced and in perfect contact. He had no idea. He is enthralled. He is awed. He is delirious with it.

Every cell in Blaine’s body is tense and hyper-aware, and his senses are overwhelmed by Kurt - by the drag of Kurt’s hands over him, by the sharp knob of bone of Kurt’s hip beneath Blaine’s fingers, by the salt of his skin in Blaine’s mouth and nose, by the heady noises Kurt is making deep in his throat, by the intensity in Kurt’s heavy-lidded eyes when he pulls away for a moment, chest heaving, before kissing Blaine again. Blaine wants nothing more than to lose himself in all of it. It would be so easy to give in, to touch and taste and feel _Kurt_ and forget everything else. So very easy.

Blaine is burning with it. Literally, maybe, given how hot his blood feels as it rushes through his veins. He can’t seem to get enough of Kurt touching him; every brush of Kurt’s fingers makes him want a thousand more. He wants more of Kurt’s hands and mouth. He wants to feel more of Kurt’s body against his, more of Kurt’s skin. He _burns_ with it. And he wants Kurt to want him back just as badly. He wants wants to make Kurt make more of those amazing moans and gasps that make it clear Kurt is enjoying every second, too. And he is, he so clearly is as he kisses Blaine as hard as he ever has and moves against him like he just can’t get close enough.

And yet Blaine knows they have to stop. They have to. They _have_ to, because the last sensible bit of his brain is about to shut down under the onslaught of want and _need_ and _love_ , and if they don’t stop now they _won’t_. They won’t stop at all, not until they crash through all sorts of boundaries they've silently set, not until they’re both consumed by their need and each other, and it will be wonderful and amazing and so very right, except that maybe it won’t be right, because this is too important not to think and talk about first, and Blaine doesn’t want to have to be responsible, he really, really, _really_ doesn’t, but he also loves Kurt, and he doesn’t want to be stupid, and -

“Oh, my god, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we should make lunch,” Kurt blurts out in a rush against Blaine’s jaw. “Or finish the garage, but probably lunch, because the garage door is still open, and I don’t think I’m in a fit state to be seen by the neighbors right now.”

Blaine’s body is vibrating with desire, and he can’t seem to loosen the hold he has on Kurt’s hips, but he can’t help but laugh. It’s relief and disappointment and gratitude and frustration and just utter adoration all rolled into one. “I love you,” he says, trying to control his laughter but pretty much failing. It’s the only possible thing he can say.

Kurt lifts his head, his pupils still blown and his lips pink and wet but his smile warm. Laughing a little in return, he pulls his hands back to settle at Blaine’s waist and leans just a little less against him. “I love you, too.”

“I agree about the garage,” Blaine says hoarsely, because he knows he’s going to have real trouble calming down. “We’ll make lunch.”

“Okay.” Kurt rests his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder and takes a long, slow breath. “You have no idea how much I don’t want to stop.”

Blaine laughs again and presses a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “Oh, I think I do,” he says, running his hands up Kurt’s sides under his shirt one last delicious time, because apparently he loves to torture himself, and then forcing himself to pull them out from beneath the material. “But we should.”

“Yeah.” Kurt breathes for another minute, his exhalations ghosting against Blaine’s skin and making it hard for him to get enough air into his own lungs. Finally Kurt raises his head and says, looking worried, “I don’t want you to think I don’t want - “

“I know,” Blaine says when Kurt breaks off and seems to be failing while searching for the right words. “I know, Kurt. There’s a difference between wanting to go further and thinking this is the right time to do it.”

Kurt nods quickly. “As long as you don’t think I’m not - I mean, I know you want - “

“Kurt,” Blaine says, looking straight into his eyes. “We’re on the same page. This - us - is important. Okay?”

Kurt’s smile is both relieved and positively radiant. “Yes. I really do love you.”

“I love you, too.” Blaine smiles back and does not give into the urge to kiss him. “Now lead me to the Gorgonzola. You promised me moldy cheese.”

“You’ll need your shirt first.” Kurt picks it up from the floor, and his ears are red again when he offers it to Blaine. He moistens his lower lip with his tongue, and Blaine makes himself look away, because despite all the talk his body is still more than ready to strip off Kurt’s own shirt and see where it takes them. He means everything he’s saying, but he’s still human. “If nothing else so I don’t cut off a finger while slicing the chicken.”

Blaine captures Kurt’s hand when he takes his shirt and kisses the backs of his fingers instead. “I definitely don’t want that to happen. I like your fingers.”

Kurt takes a shaky breath and says, “Okay, I’m moving away from you now.” He tugs his hand free, backs up, and goes to the refrigerator. Blaine feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs at the loss of him, and he takes a minute to breathe before he follows.

It turns out that Kurt has already grilled the chicken, so making lunch is more assembling than actually cooking, which is good for Blaine, because he can’t burn anything, as well as for the overall temperature in the house.

Blaine is given the exciting task of washing and spinning dry the baby spinach. It’s actually kind of fun to use the spinner, especially since Kurt is standing only a couple of feet away from him carefully slicing the chicken and crumbling the cheese. They talk about lunch and how they’re going to organize the shelves, nothing too serious, and Blaine can feel the simple joy of being together settling back around him and smoothing out the rough edges of his attraction. It feels real and easy, just them, and Blaine has a moment of vertigo as he pictures himself in five years, in fifteen, doing the exact same things with Kurt. It takes his breath away, but it doesn’t feel scary at all.

By the time Kurt shows him how to make a vinaigrette, which apparently requires a certain kind of whisk and some special olive oil, Blaine can slip his arms around Kurt’s waist from behind him and hook his chin over Kurt’s shoulder to enjoy the demonstration without being too distracted by his desires. It’s comforting, really, to be close to Kurt again after wanting him so badly. The intensity of his feelings and the abrupt ending of physical contact have left him feeling a little shaken, and having his arms around Kurt re-anchors him and brings him back to center.

It feels like it should be weird that everything that turns him on about Kurt is also calming: the solidity of his body against Blaine’s, the familiar but beautiful angles of his face, the delicate way he uses his hands to stir and pour, the scent of his skin and the detergent on his clothes, the quirk of his lips when he smiles, the music of his voice, the hum of satisfaction he makes when he likes what he has created, the way he just fits in Blaine’s arms like he was made to be there. All of it turns Blaine on every single day, and yet it also makes him feel safe. Maybe it should be weird, but it isn’t at all. It’s where he wants to be. It’s where he’s supposed to be. The wanting can be overwhelming in the best and worst ways, but this, this moment with Kurt, this connection with Kurt, is exactly right.

*

A little while later, Kurt’s dad comes home, and if he lifts an eyebrow at their tousled hair he praises them warmly over the sturdiness of their shelving unit. When Kurt relates the story of Blaine swinging on it to test its weight limit with obvious frustration, Mr. Hummel only laughs and pats them both on the back when they go back into the house. Blaine isn’t too proud to enjoy the approval, and he eats his salad happily while Kurt and his father argue the finer points of garage organization over the meal.

They spend another hour and a half after lunch rearranging pretty much everything in the sweltering garage and reward themselves with ice cream afterward. Kurt sings bits of his musical for Blaine’s critique as they sit on a picnic bench at the ice cream stand, and when they get back Blaine takes to the piano to help him with the arrangements. Carole finds them there when she gets home from work, and she applauds with genuine delight when they play the latest version of the big first act duet for her. Kurt can’t stop smiling, and that means neither can Blaine.

At the end of the night, after they eat dinner with Kurt’s family and sprawl exhausted on the couch to watch a movie as the others go on with their evenings around them, Kurt walks Blaine to his car. They hold hands and watch the fireflies in the yard before kissing each other goodbye.

“I had a good day,” Kurt says softly against Blaine’s cheek as they hug for the last time.

“I did, too,” Blaine replies.

He realizes as he drives away that he spent a day alone with Kurt pretty much doing chores and other things they’ve been doing for months with people around. He would have thought he’d feel like he didn’t take advantage of their time together, but in his heart he doesn’t actually feel like he missed anything at all. Sure, they could have made out more on Kurt’s bed instead of working on the score to his musical, but they’d had fun. In fact, it had been amazing to play and sing together and bring Kurt’s vision to life. Even working in the garage had been satisfying to do together. So what if their friends would have mocked them for it? It felt right. It _was_ right.

And, really, there’s no reason to rush. They have the whole summer to redraw their boundaries however and whenever they want to. They have next year, too, to push them even further.

They have all the time in the world.


End file.
